I wanted to go home.
We had just arrived at the vacation spot for fourth of July weekend, and I was already in full on “angry mommy” mode. We were guests in this little cabin in the woods, but I worried with the way my kids were jumping on things, pulling decorations off the walls, and throwing their toys, the welcome would be short lived.
My boys are both pretty hyper to begin with. And on top of that, they were so wound up from being stuck in a car for a few hours, they were uncontrollable. I kept looking at my husband with eyes that screamed “What the heck do we do now??”
I felt like we were trapped, too far away to just turn around and go home, and besides, I was so tired. But I didn’t want to fight this battle anymore. Not here. This wasn’t on home turf and the stakes felt much higher.
My oldest was recently diagnosed with severe ADHD, though we’ve known this was a problem for years. But now, with the way my youngest was acting, a knot formed in my stomach wondering if he was destined for the same diagnosis.
When they get like this – this hyper mode – it’s so hard to pull them back down. Eventually I caved and just sat there and watched.
‘If they break something, we can buy a replacement,’ I thought to myself. I also fumed through my teeth “If we wanted to be miserable this weekend, we could have just stayed home.”
Sometimes, in the darkest and weakest of moments, I just want to walk out the door. The fight or flight response in me wants to walk away from all of it. Sometimes, my anxiety and depression take over and bark orders at me.
“Just leave and it will all go away. If you get in your car and drive off, it will be quiet. You can outrun this chaos.” And of course, the devil of all thoughts “They are better without you.”
Of course, I never leave. I know this is what I signed up for. All of it, including the chaos. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t have dark thoughts. Seeking escape will always be my Achilles heel. I used to satisfy it with my aggressive wine habit, but now I try to see it for what it is and move on.
Anyway, back to that night. We somehow managed to get the kids in PJ’s, but the burnout was real. My husband and I split up and each took on one child to read to and lay with for the evening. I was with my oldest, when he found a blank index card and a pen.
“No, no, no,” I said. “We can draw tomorrow. It’s bedtime! Please!” I begged.
“Can you just write something for me?” My son asked. “I want to write about my day!”
I hesitated. With my son’s development disorder, we are always asking him to connect with his feelings. Did he really want to journal his day or was this just a ploy to delay bedtime?
“Ok,” I said. “Tell me what to write and I’ll write it here.”
“Write this: I had a good day. The best day ever of my life.”I looked at him quizzically.
Was he serious? Was he playing me? But there was no irony in his eyes. He meant every word.
To think a day that just about did me in – long, frustrating, laborious – this same day in his eyes was magical in every way. I remembered I still have so much to learn. I have so much to understand about parenting these kids. Their worlds look so very different from mine, even when we are in the same room. Even when we are together for every breath, every moment of every day.
And sometimes I need to take a step back and see things from their point of view. Maybe walk in their shoes, and see the excitement, the magic and the beauty in what my grown up heart has now deemed ordinary. Boring. Exhausting even.
Maybe, deep down, that is just the escape my heart seeks. A call back to what matters. The smell of the woods. The excitement of a new place. The energy of life. Kids don’t need control to thrive. They don’t need everything to go ‘smoothly’, for the day to go as planned, or for the schedule to be met for them to be happy.
And for all the time I’ve spend wondering if I’ve failed, wondering what I’m doing wrong. Maybe, just maybe, I’m doing everything just fine.
Maybe the kids will be alright, after all.
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