The other day, I heard someone say this:
“I have never, ever raised my voice to my children. I have never, ever looked at them with anything but a smile and love in my eyes. . . I let them know every day how much I treasure them. I adore them. They are my reason for being on this earth. I would never raise my voice to them. I would never tell them anything but that they are the precious young men that I’ve had the privilege of being their mother.”
Is she friggin‘ kidding? Two boys and you’ve never raised your voice in anger? Never given them the evil eye when they start telling fart jokes in front of company? Never had a bad day and said something you regret?
Attention please! I would like to nominate Dr. Phil’s wife for sainthood in mothering! Or, are there more of you out there? I must know how you’ve found your zen.
When people hear I homeschool my kids, the first thing out of their mouths is often, “Oh, you must be so patient”. And, I have to stifle a laugh, because of all the qualities I have, patience is one that I could use in spades.
Lately, my mothering has been less-than-stellar. I’m not sure if it is the ‘post holiday’ doldrums, but I can’t shake that desire to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. I raise my voice too often (although more in a ‘military officer‘ tone versus the ‘crazy-lady screech’ heard on the show that prompted Robin—aka Mrs. Dr. Phil—to make the above statement). I say things like, “Hurray Up!”, “Stop Playing with Water!”, “Give me that!” and “Will you just Listen!”.
Ugh.
I know I’m a work in progress. I know I should count to ten a little more often, should lighten up, should go with the flow of mothering.
I also know that one person I would not want to be is the pregnant daughter-in-law to Mother Robin. I couldn’t handle trying to live up to that.
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