the art of parenting

You hear it all the time. There is no tougher job on this earth than that of a parent. You also hear there is no tougher job than that of a mother. Then you hear there is no tougher job than that of a stay-at-home mother. Then you hear there is no tougher job than that of a single mother. And I, my friends, am all of those. And let me tell you . . . it is tough. It is tough for a thousand different reasons that are unique to each parent.

I woke up this morning in a complete, totally random, weird, unpleasant, horrible funk. The kind of funk you know is not going to fly with anyone else living with you, and the kind of funk you know is going to get in the way of being a good, solid mother today. I pouted, my eyes filled with tears a few random times, my stomach ate at itself. I couldn't even think about dinner, and that is when you know something is seriously wrong. And when I'm feeling this way, which I can happily say is rare, I am spending much of the time just trying to identify my feelings so I can begin to address them. At some point in the day, I realized that parenting is actually just as much an art and a style and a process that hopefully creates well-behaved, well-mannered children who grow up and want to be good people. And it hit me that it was a reflection of me.

I am not, by nature, a patient person, and it is by far the biggest lesson I am learning. If I discipline the dirtlickers without patience, I walk away from the situation feeling completely depleted, and drained. And I think to myself, you handled that like a child. And the cycle begins. If I were more patient, my children would be better behaved. If I were more structured, they wouldn't need so much, because they would know what to expect and when. If I were more of this, they would be more of that. If I were more of that, they would be more like this. It is endless, and exhausting. But the realization is priceless, and I promise these two shorties that I will be a better woman, so that I can be a better mother.