When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself - Nancy Friday
I was thinking last night how I try very hard as a parent to show my kids how much I care about them. I love them, I want nothing more for them to be happy. BUT, at the same time sometimes I fail. Sometimes I leave the baby in her bed a little bit too long because I just want to finish the floors, sometimes I respond to the never ending questions with, "Please, leave me alone for a minute." a little too harshly. Sometimes I tell Joe that he can color but then I look at the table and see it covered in laundry and I change my mind. It's too much work to put it all away just so he can make another mess. Sometimes it isn't even laundry, sometimes it's breakfast left on the table and I just don't want to, I just can't clean it.
I see the hurt on their faces, the disappointment in the way they hold their mouth and droop their eye lids. Sometimes it's too much having 5 kids and I think that while I love them it's just so much. Sometimes I tell that to Jerry and he jokingly says, "okay, who should we get rid of?" I like to think about it... but I can never chose. I love them all and I usually feel sad thinking about it. What would my life be like without my little weasel Joe and his skinny legs, always causing mischief? He is always the first to jump into my arms and squeeze as hard as his toothpick arms are capable. My Sam bones brown, my oldest - he has the spirit of a kitten, loves to cuddle and is always more excitable when you're tired. Could I live with out my Lucy Lu? Absolutely not! She has true Toompas spirit - kindness abounds, love overflows, helpfulness, cheerfulness, and camaraderie. Oh what about Molly, our beauty? She loves me to brush and brush her hair, wants to look just like princess bell and has perfected the doe eye blink. Seeing Jerry with her, their special oldest daughter daddy bond always makes me roll me eyes but those moments I tuck into my heart. We all know it certainly could not be Iris Sophia that I get rid of. She is like water to my soul. I feel as though I've never known love like I have from her. She is always smiling, giggling if you make eye contact, snuggly buggly baby, She wants me all the time. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces then melts back into shape each time she raises her arms to me saying, "Mommy you are my favorite and I need you so much." None of the other kids have ever needed me as Iris does. Not because she is a sickly little thing but because that is her personality. She is loving and she will always be one of those women who everyone feels accepted around, I already know it.
ANYWAY, the point is, sometimes I do hurt my kids. It's not always on purpose (Okay sometimes I snap at them to get out of the bathroom and it feels good.) but it happens.
This is it, these are the times they are "scarred for life". We always joke with my mom about a handful of things she did to us that was so "terrible", but my mom cared and she did so much to make us have a great childhood, how can I blame her for a few times when her anger got the best of her, or when she forgot me at church *ahem* and I got to hang out at one of the pastors' house for awhile... yes mom, I remember.
When I think about my formative years I know that I was a difficult child.
I'm 2, there’s a summer party outside in the church yard. Everyone is there. I love everyone there and I feel very happy. We’re playing an egg toss game; we can throw pies at people’s faces, there are water balloons. Someone wants to take a picture, maybe it’s my mom but I can’t see because it’s sunny. I don’t want my picture taken and I put my arms in my sleeves because I hate the shirt I’m wearing. It is blue and so it should be a boys’ shirt. I hate it. I hope my mom sees the picture and doesn’t like it and I hope she knows how much I do not like this shirt. I don’t like suspenders. They are Spencer’s and I don’t know why I have to wear them.
I clearly remember those feelings, that I wanted her to be mad because I was mad. When I think about it even still, it makes perfect sense to my two year old self. Why would I have to wear an ugly blue shirt that I hated so much? Didn't she care about me? Didn't she care that I really didn't want to wear it?
I clearly remember my new swimming pool, I'm probably three now and my mom has her friend over, she lives next door and we're in our swim suit. I don't want Crista to get into the pool with me even though we're friends and I think I said something mean to her. I can close my eyes right now, I see my mom's face, her face then, not her face now and I remember her eyebrows raising in her "I'm serious" face. "You can chose to let Crista get into your pool or you will get a spanking and you will take a nap." I remember the defiance in every part of my body. my stomach clenched, my jaw clenched, my eyebrows low. It's my choice. Did I want a spanking? No. Did I want to share my new pool? NO. I got a spanking and a nap.
I remember laying in my bed crying. Why was she so cruel to me? Why would she spank me? It was MY pool and why did I need to share!?
I'm 99% positive this exact scenario has happened at our house. "You will share the popcorn or you will get a spanking and you will take a nap." Is it because I hate my children and don't want them to enjoy popcorn? No... not at all. Again, as a child it's just something incomprehensible. Even if she tried to explain it, even if I tried to explain it to Molly there would be no understanding.
Being a parent means you show tough love. It's called tough love because it's tough, it's mean, it's harsh, but it's based on love. She wants me to be a good person, she wants me to learn to share and show kindness. I want Molly to be liked, I want people to love her sweet temperament. But in the garden of her personality there are a few weeds that need to be pulled, her attitude occasionally needs to be pruned.
My mom wasn't a good mom because she gave me everything I wanted and told me I was beautiful every second of the day (though I would have absolutely loved it!) She was a good mom because she met my needs, gave me love, gave me comfort, instilled a passion in me for reading, sewing, gardening. She showed me how to be a person. How to clean bathrooms and dishes, she showed me how to cook, how to be a good friend.
My mom doesn't always know the perfect thing to say, she doesn't always say what I want to hear, she doesn't always make me feel good about myself. Sometimes when I'm really struggling with something I'll call her thinking she will have the answer to what I want to hear, instead she will say something completely grounded like, "Sometimes you have to just put yourself aside and do it for your family." and I feel irritated and we hang up and I'm mad for a few minutes and wonder why I even call her but then I obey her. And I always call her back. She is reliable, she is kind, she is caring, she is full of good very irritating to hear advice.
How could I not think she cared about me? She cared by showing me how to be a person. She showed me how to love and how to be loved in the best way she knew how.
I'll probably scar my children for life too. The time I forgot to feed them breakfast and lunch then wondered all day why they were so cranky!? They will remember. They will hold it against me. I'm only human. The best I can do is not always shower them with love and gush over their beauty but sometimes I'll have to not let Sam go to a friend's birthday party because he refused to do his homework - I'll teach him self discipline. Sometimes I will stand over Joe while he has tears streaming down his face telling him to do it again because that is not clean!
It's taken being a parent to see that the times my Mom "didn't care about me", wasn't because she was a bad person or because she wanted to make me feel foolish or unhappy. It's because she was a tough love Mom and she was human. She had moments that she hated us and told us to scram.
I'm 3 and all four of us are huddled around my mom's bedroom door. She told us she is taking a nap, under no circumstances are we to bother her. Spencer is laying on the carpet breathing under the door and she yells through the door to go.to.bed. I'm playing in bed and brush the popcorn ceiling with my finger tips. Some of it falls into my eyes and I start screaming. Amanda and Max are looking in my eyes and trying to tell me to be quiet. Mom will be angry with me for being loud. Finally Amanda drags me to my mom's room. We're both terrified in the hallway. She opens it and says, "Yes?" and Amanda tells her what happens. She immediately scoops me into her arms and carries me into the bathroom and I cry only because I am so relieved that she isn't mad at me.
Was my mom crazy and lock us out of her room all the time? No. Did she beat us? No. Did she occasionally need a nap because she's a human? YES.
Of course, as a child I couldn't see that, I'm sure my children can't see me as a human either. She did the best she can. I'm doing the best I can... because it's the best I can do.
So many people love my mom, they never hesitate to tell me how much she inspired them to be a better parent, how she gave them so many ideas on training their children. I would nod and smile - sure, sure... you don't know the real her... but now I know that they did see the true her.
And for the first time, I do too.
Kait -Mother of Five
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