SacMomsClub.com

Momservation for the day: It seems only fair to teach children about PMS at a young age so they know when to steer clear of Mommy.

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I wasn’t a very good mommy this morning.

I was having a horrible, no good, very bad day thanks to my “monthly friend” being in town, and my poor son became the emotional equivalent of getting mowed down while trying to safely cross in the crosswalk. My daughter at least had the good sense to try not to cross PMS Mommy St. and in fact took a whole ‘nother route by hiding out in the bathroom until I was done running over unsuspecting pedestrians.

All my 9 year-old son wanted to do was make his lunch, eat his breakfast and get himself to school in time for his morning recess and favorite activity, soccer. He was proceeding in that direction right on time when along came the 7:37 a.m. Mean Mommy Express.

It all began when I started going through his Friday Folder, all the work he had done the previous week, so I could sign-off on it and he could return it to his teacher.

It was not his fault that I waited until the last minute to do this. And if I am being a reflective mother and am practicing what I preach (in this case it was yelling at him, “How are you going to get better if you don’t learn from your mistakes!”), I probably should have reviewed this material with him sometime during the weekend when I would’ve had his full attention and not when he was in a rush to get himself responsibly ready and to school on time.

So when I came across some tests with wrong answers even though I was sure he knew the material, I tried to go over it with him. I thought I saw a teachable moment. I thought I was being very helpful and supplementing his learning process. I enjoyed being able to use my teaching skills from my previous career to help my own child. And even when he got huffy and defensive about it, I thought I was doing a good job being patient, explaining why it’s important to review your work and correct your mistakes.

But then he hit me with his patronizing 3^rd grade know-it-all standard reply I’m getting so sick of: “I know Mom.” It flipped my PMS switch.

“No, you don’t know!” I yelled at him. “If you did know, then you wouldn’t have made these mistakes!”

And then it went down hill from there. I went on an overemotional rant about learning from our mistakes, taking constructive criticism, and knowing when to listen and learn from people with the wisdom and experience.

And then I had one of those moments where I knew I was about to spew something hurtful out of my mouth, but I just could not stop myself. In my head I was saying, Don’t say it, don’t you say it!

“Logan! You are too smart to be so stupid!”

Sh**. I said it.

Plus, in our house, my kids think The “S” Word is “stupid” – one of those bad words that will get your mouth washed out with soap. So the horrified look on my son’s face wasn’t just because I yelled something mean and hurtful at him (which was a totally uncalled for and a blatant overreaction), but I used foul language in the commission of this crime, doubling my sentence of shame.

I should’ve apologized right away, but I was still worked up and mad at what I perceived to be his ambivalence and stubbornness. Instead, I kept driving like a crazy, out-of-control fool, looking to run over someone else’s self-esteem.

“Whitney! Where are you? Why haven’t you gotten in here and eaten this breakfast yet?”

Poking her head from the safety of the bathroom, she darted to the table, inhaled her breakfast, then scooped up her school bag and zipped outside to grab her bike.

Logan dragged his wounded soul outside, grudgingly accepting my kiss on his cheek and routine wish to have a good day.

Instead of taking that opportunity to apologize I continued to blame him and his thick-headedness for the ugly turn of events.

It wouldn’t be until my mom called and I began to vent to her before the scenario unclouded in my thick-headed skull and I could see error of my ways and the emotional destruction I left behind.

So now here I sit waiting for Logan to get home, stewing in my own self-loathing, knowing I have taken myself out of the running for Mother of the Year. I am desperately hoping with an apology I can repair the tear in my son’s self-confidence and trust that his own mother wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.

I hope he understands you’re never too old to learn from your mistakes.

First let me say, I got on Twitter before Oprah. By a day, not counting tape delay.

And I didn’t sign up for the wildly popular free micro-blog website because Ashton Kutcher wants to count me as one of his one million “followers.” Although, I am seriously considering following Zac Efron – cougar tag be damned, I’d follow him anywhere. Yum!

No, I finally acknowledged that as a blogger, Twitter is the place to see and be seen. Plus, my Momservations tidbits fit perfectly with the format – your thoughts on any subject in 140 characters or less. These posts are called Tweets. People Tweet about the mundane (i.e. I’m tired and going to bed now) to breaking news by CNN. By far the biggest draws to Twitter are following the rich and famous who try to pretend their lives are just as ordinary as ours.

I’d been keeping Twitter on my radar, however, I was reluctant to follow the lemmings off the cliff. I thought, I’m not a sports star, red-carpet celebrity, or lesbian DJ with an on-again off-again relationship with a troubled starlet. I don’t have fans hungry for the knowledge that I just picked the pickles off my Big Mac. Why would anyone care what I’m doing at any given moment?

I’m a regular busy mom with busy mom friends – none of which I knew had the time to Twitter let alone a Twitter account. Also, I figured anyone I was slightly interested in following (Orlando Bloom – double Yum) I could just read about in People magazine while in the bathroom like I usually do.

But when I mentioned my if-I-Twitter-will-they come? reluctance to a tech savvy friend she said, “You’d be surprised. I think moms are going to be the next huge demographic on Twitter because they have so little time. It’s a quick, easy way to stay connected.”

I realized she was right and signed up. As my first Tweet said, “…Had to get on this bus before it left the station without me.”

So, yup, just like Facebook I was so fiercely resisting, I was lured into this digital age of social networking by the prospect of a fun new way to connect with people. I feel so…hip!

Here’s a sample of my last two Tweets:

The punishment may fit the crime, but it still makes you feel like a mean mommy for enforcing it.

Unless you love doing laundry, buy at least two pairs of Little League baseball pants.

Want more? Then come Twitter with me at www.Twitter.com/Momservations!

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The children have headed back to school

After a week of Spring Break fun

Who’s going to clean up this post Easter mess?

Looks like stay-at-home mom is the one.

But if I’m left to put this house

Into the order it was before

I think I should be rewarded

With some holiday candy for my chore.

Dozens of opened plastic eggs

Reunited with their other half?

“That’ll cost two dozen jelly beans!”

I scarf up as I laugh.

Spilled bubbles and chocolate finger prints

Left for Mommy to wipe up?

“Two Cadbury eggs and four Peeps!”

That should be enough.

Green and pink Easter grass

Plastic strands disabling my vacuum?

“Why not a peanut butter chocolate egg?”

Found stashed in someone’s room.

Sweeping up colorful foil wrappers and Nerds

Scattered pebble candy playing hide and seek?

“A half dozen or so speckled malted eggs!”

They won’t notice for a week.

Wet bathing suits and towels

Easter dress and slacks discarded on the floor?

“Seven chocolate crunch bunnies and eggs!”

Plus maybe a few more.

But as I reach for some Tums

Suddenly groaning in distress

“Come Halloween, Lord help me,” I say,

“If they don’t clean up their mess.”

Kelli M. Wheeler

4/14/09

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Big day tomorrow.

April 8 will mark the one year anniversary of my very first blog post.

That’s right, my children’s milestones haven’t been officially recorded in a baby book since first molars came in, but I have shamelessly used them for material here for one year.

And amazingly, I haven’t been just entertaining myself! I’m not quite sure what to make of the thousands who have tuned in to witness the side possibility that my children may one day be raking me over the coals on Dr. Phil’s couch for unknowingly using them for fodder.

I like to think you are all laughing with me and not at me. I also love to think of you all as my comrades in the trenches of motherhood.

That we are linked by the dark rings of sleep deprivation under our eyes and the puke stains on our Asics.

That admitting you yell at your kids while standing in your underwear and that they learned the S-H word from you is considered the norm here.

That scavenging for half-eaten dino-nuggets, considering Goldfish crackers its own food group, and blowing dog hair off the strawberry that fell on the floor before handing it back to be eaten is standard.

That drying tears, fixing problems, and making everything all better is all part of a day’s work.

That it’s unanimous laundry, cleaning house, and figuring out what to feed people never gets fun.

That we all agree being the maid, chef, chauffer, administrative assistant, doctor, event organizer, referee, and jack-of-all-trades should pay better.

That at the end of the day, we wouldn’t trade our jobs for anything.

That children can at once be exhausting and entertaining, exasperating and amazing, defiant and delightful, annoying and adorable, tear-provoking and heart constricting and when you look at their sleeping angel faces at night you can’t believe you’ve so lucky.

That motherhood may be the most challenging thing we’ve ever done, but it sure is the best ride in the park.

Thanks for taking the journey with me.

Even after Family Ear Wax Night.

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