Monday Morning Mom-struggle

I upset my manchild this morning as I drove him to school. One minute we were discussing breakfast options and the next, he exclaimed in a louder-than-normal-but-less-than-yelling voice, "Don't look at me!"

My audible response was automatic, "UH. Do NOT talk to me like that. OK?"

The silence thundered. I know, dramatic right?
But it was a rocky silence and I am not good in rocky silences.
I am the one who always wants to CLEAR THE AIR (picture my arms waving at wisps of streaky air mud). This drives everyone I love CRAZY but my husband is the only one patient enough to embrace it.
My kids are like, STOP IT. I NEED A MOMENT. THIS IS A NO-FIXING ZONE RIGHT NOW.

Because I am practicing the art of BEING QUIET and holding back, my mind goes into a steady stream of mom-yack. Verbal vomit of the brain.

This ever happen to you? It looks like this.

WHATTHE? wheredidthatcomefrom? whyisHEupset? UGH ihateitsomuchwhenthishappensbeforeschool!!! whatdidido? iwanthimtohaveagoodday IWANTTOHAVEAGOODAY BLECH whyisheactinglikeapunk? jesushelpmebreathe doitalkagain? nonotyet toosoontoosoon teenagersareinsane isthatacramp? ohjeez maybeIAMINSANE imseriouslytooOLDFORAPERIODLORDcanwebedonewiththisalready? werealmosttooschool hesnotgoingtosaybye werealmostthere yeshewill nohewont pullingintothedriveway tellhimyoulovehimLIKENORMAL ofCOURSEIWILLTELLHIMILOVEHIMhesmybaby therehegoes hesgoingtoshutthedoorandjustwalkaway oh! see? hesaidbyetoo.
woohooVICTORY hesok imok
WHATTHEHELLHAPPENEDINTHEFIRSTPLACE?
everythingisfine everythingisfine


My momyack quieted and I was able to think like a sane person again.
What did happen?

And as my heart and mind slowed and I sat in silence for a few minutes, the answer came.

I have learned this is how answers are revealed.
Ask.
Wait.
God does not tease us. He says very clearly, Ask and you shall receive and also, If you lack wisdom and you ask for it, God will give it too you because he's a GOOD God. (paraphrase mine)

I texted my kid. I apologized for the tone in which I had spoken to him. Not the firm MOM tone after he became frustrated and probably mortified, but the one right before that, when I baby-coddled him.

That's right. That was my crime. I spoke to him like he was three. Not even on purpose. It just flew out like some of those mom-things do.

Doesn't seem like such a huge deal. Right?
Unless you are a seventeen year old with a beard. Then it's like your mom is stealing away your almost-adult card and trying to shove a binky in your mouth.

It reminded me of when I was in labor with my oldest. I was practically DYING on the table. All that pushing and uncontrollable shaking, along with trying to resist an epidural because I was listening to all the people telling me how WONDERFUL it is to deliver in full capacity of my senses.
Side note: this is not my jam and with my other two labors I practically carried a billboard inside the hospital flashing, "GIVE ME ALL THE DRUGS!"
My mom was next to me and in the middle of my almost-becoming-a-parent moment, she reached down and stroked my hair and said in a "mommy voice" - Oh Shannon!

It may as well have been, Oh Shannon baby boo-boo.


I slapped her hand away.
Please don't judge me here. Let's follow the thread. I was on the cusp of child > teenager > parent, and my mom was having her own moment and trying to pull me back.
I was not having it.

Neither was manchild.

We don't get to pull back mamas. Even if it slips out. We can't pull back. It is our job to always gently and firmly, propel forward.

I don't write about manchild, or Sammi, or Bre all that often because well, it's not like when they were three and could not read or have their own Facebook account and internet access. They can read my words. It could be a post describing how much I yucked up a moment or a post that boasts about how amazing they are ....
when you are seventeen - it does not matter.
You get a comment that says, "DELETE THIS."
You get an eye roll when you get home.
You may get a lecture on respect and privacy.

(insert mom eye roll here)

But there's a lot of us mamas-of-teenagers who are struggling and it's not the same struggles as a mama-of-toddlers. It's a silent struggle.


Mama of teenagers. I SEE YOU.
And in response to my morning,
I prayed for a whole bunch of us and then left a card surprise for a random MOM going to Costco today.

Just remember - our group may be quieter but WE ARE HERE. We are not alone.
I am rooting for you in your own wacky conversations and mom-vomit mornings.
Please please - root for me.

XO

THINGS that are HARD to SwaLLoW

THINGS that are HARD to SwaLLoW:
Warm milk in the desert, mid-day.
Prenatal Vitamins in your first trimester.
Peanut butter.
The thick outcome of oral sex.
Preachers who sermonize about lust while driving their Cadillacs, staring at hookers.
The smell of period farts.
A mouthful of skittles when you're stoned.
Smiling in spite of hurt feelings with a repeat offender.
Rejection.
Pride.
My words when confronted with your ego.

Let's break up with the idea of us.
I want to unclog my throat.

Difficult people is a mandatory in life. They rub us like sandpaper against a raw sunburn. Like a side cramp in mile five, with two more to go, they cause us to clutch and limp, and for goodness sake, breathe in your nose and out your mouth, and keep that shit even.

But they also challenge us to be our better self.
Rise above.
Whether it's the idea of not wanting to be anything like them, or if we go deeper into some kind of Jesus calling to love thy neighbor;
even if it is with clenched fists and grinding teeth.
We reach out, we "like", we ask for visits, we LOL; knowing each time the response is a haughty, pointed, silence from an impenetrable wall.
Ah.
But is that love I'm really showing?
I'm not sure. Probably not the pure kind.
I can tell you what it is though, it is an effort. And if that kind of effort is being given, there is love somewhere, for someone, motivating it's continuance.

I've reached some sort of self-inflicted rejection limit.
I've never really mastered the social angst of high-school; cowering beneath any type of Queen Bee. I was more of a "here's-my-middle-finger-why-don't-you-suck-it" kind of girl.
I'd like to think I've grown a little. Learned to give a measure of grace.
I mean, there is Jesus.
Although I picture him constantly shaking his head in exasperation, I'd like to think every now and again he gives me a heavenly high-five.
So,
I try to keep my middle fingers to myself.
And I also try to remember, we are walking a path unique to each one of us, and sometimes that path is rocky, steep, and hot damn if I don't keep stumbling over that same freakin' boulder. Someone please give me a leg up or let me learn to go around it already.
And also, maybe I am someone else's boulder too. There is that.

It is asked I turn my cheek. And then the other one,
It is not required I lay down on the floor and allow another human, no matter their position, pass over me as if I don't exist.
We both know I am here.
We both know how hard it's pretended I am not.

I'm going to let us off the hook.
I'm going to make it easier for us to swallow.
I'm not going to entice you to like me anymore. No more auctioning off myself in bewildered bits and placating pieces, to someone who continues to look at me like a garage sale slip of underwear.

Here's a truth that's real for everybody; most certainly a truth I grabbed a hold of at age nine and held it close to my chest as a vigilant shield, or swung it like a bat if someone came pitching at me with their small, teeth-barring, lies.
I decide what I am worth for myself.
If I don't, some asshat struggling with their own value and usefulness is going to decide it for me, and it will always be at a clearance price.
If I don't set a boundary, someone unworthy of my core self, will cross it
every. single. time.

Why?

It can be because they think they are better than you.
It can be because they are intimidated by you.
It can be because they are jealous of you.
It can be because they don't know how to handle you.
Or it can be because they don't know any better. (But come on. Unless they are four years old .... bullshit)
No matter which reason it is, every single one is unacceptable.
Each one is small.

We are ALL worth something. To God. To ourselves. To the ones that love us.
We are NOT always liked. Or appreciated. Or valued.
By our own tribe or the masses.

Choose your people. Choose who speaks into you and over you.
You can't help who speaks about you.
But you, and me, we can choose what we listen to, what takes root, what grows, and what we let go of.

XO