Day 7

It turns out the number of days that I can make it as a single mom without loosing my mind is seven.  Todd has been away for 8 days now and I can officially say that I am a bit on the crazy side.  My children have been banished to their rooms in the tower just like Rapunzel, but I still feel edgy and raw from our exchange.  It all started on Pi Day with Math Night at school.  I was tired, well exhausted really, from nights of no sleep while everyone from the dog on up was restless because we were down a man and the house just didn't feel right.  Even coffee wasn't able to bring me out of the sleep-deprived haze.  So when we arrived at Math Night at school, and the boys ran off to find their friends, I couldn't even argue.  I spent over an hour helping Molly count and graph Skittles, estimate jars to win prizes, play math bingo, and other math inspired games.  The boys found the math computer games and stayed put.  I thought the evening was going well since they were occupied happily.  But then the night ended and Zach realized his time had been "wasted" playing on the computer.  It was my fault he didn't have enough time to win a prize.  It was my fault he didn't get to play in the gym with his buddies.  And on top of that, Molly won a door prize and he didn't!  He threw a temper-tantrum...a royal, big baby, temper tantrum.  The kind where you pretend you don't know whose kid that is, even when he is shouting after you as you slink away..."Mom!"

All of my bible studies and parenting group studies kicked into gear.  I breathed a deep breath and tried to exit the building quickly and calmly.  But the Principal saw Molly holding her new math game door prize and had to gush over how lucky she was.  If it wasn't for those two minutes, we might have been in the clear.  But during this exchange with Mrs. Winfield, the boys were outside the double doors of the school still upset that they didn't win more stuff.  Some sort of scuffle ensued which ended with Colin giving Zach a swift kick in the butt and Zach wailing like he had just been the victim of a horrible crime.  As I walked into the scene of the carnage, I just hoped I would wake from this nightmare.  I mean, here I am at school with my boys beating the crap out of each other and making a total scene (and not for the first time).  How can I even pretend to be a good mom who spends time on things like bible study or parenting skills?

Only they weren't done completely embarrassing me yet.  The verbal assault continued as we walked from the front door to the car, which I conveniently parked at the far end of the parking lot.  If I wouldn't have been mortified at their behavior and had so many witnesses judging me, I might have been impressed with their ability to argue (future supreme court justices or politicians for sure!).  It took all of my energy at this point to not yell.  I had to wait until I left the parking lot, lest someone hear my tirade though the glass of my car.  And then I threw all my graceful study and parenting level-headedness out the window and went CRAZY!

My boys then took this opportunity to exercise their debate skills further.  The fire had been sparked, but the gasoline they choose to pour on that spark was explosive.  They threw every possible one of my past parenting indiscretions at me with vigor, wrongly assuming that pointing out my imperfections would lessen their crime or soften my response with empathy.  Finally they threw the "you just don't love us anymore" card at me.  At this point I just threw out the ultimate Mom insult..."I am just SO VERY disappointed in you."  And they began to cry.  I am pretty sure this whole exchange is documented in the parenting books as how NOT to react.

After I locked them all in their towers, I collapsed on the couch and wondered what I could have done differently.  But here is the thing, I was the same way when I was their age when I felt slighted or enraged.  I hurled insults at my mother until I could think of no more.  I stomped and slammed doors.  And I cried and felt unloved when everyone around me would not jump in and echo my outrage.  Nothing short of a witch hunt would have calmed me down in those dramatic moments.  And I think I even remember my mother's final threat at the end of some of our arguments of "someday you will have a child just like you." Karma, sometimes you can be such a b...