Wednesday, December 1, 2010

I Scream

Last night, at 8:50, Alyssa asked me to get her some ice cream.

Never mind that it was ten minutes until 9 and she should have been asleep 50 minutes ago. I'd told her she could stay up and watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which, why is this show on so late on a SCHOOL NIGHT? Why? Why can't they show it when the kids are actually on break the week before Christmas? Seriously?

But she asked for ice cream.

And...I hate getting ice cream for the kids. I hate getting it for anyone. I hate getting it so much that I don't eat it at home because the chore of scooping it out of the tub, and then STIRRING it, because, duh, my kids don't like it to be hard when they eat it. They want it like soft-serve.

I hate every single part of that. And quite honestly? The pleasure they get from eating the ice cream doesn't take away a single moment of the frustration I feel when I have to get it for them.

I know. I'm on a roll here for parenting failure moments.

Whatever.

It gets worse.

See, because when she asked for it, I didn't just say no and leave it at that. Oh heavens no, that would have been the mature, maternal thing to do. Just say, "Sweetie, it's kind of late for ice cream. Maybe tomrrow after dinner."

And leave it at that.

I'm a terrific mother in hind-sight.

In reality, though? I'm not so good at this parenting thing.

She asked, "Can I have some ice cream?"

And I looked pointedly at the clock and said, with a decisive snip in my voice, "Really? It's almost nine o'clock."

She shrugged, as if to say, "Big freaking deal, slave woman, get me some ice cream!"

Which, obviously, is my perception at the time and not what she was actually thinking. She's seven and not particularly evil.

So, being mature and all, I suggested, "How about a Reeces cup instead."

Because a Reeces would mean way less work for me and duh, Reeces have peanut butter, which is so much better for you and ice cream. Right? Right.

But she didn't want a Reeces cup, she wanted ice cream.

So I bitched and I moaned and I slammed the freezer door open and I bitched some more about how much I HATE getting ice cream and I slammed the bowl on the counter at least two times and I stirred and stirred and stirred that hard-ass ice cream into soft-serve and I handed the bowl with a scowl and thought, "And you better freaking eat it!"

And...about half way through the ice cream I'd given her, she declared she didn't want anymore.

And I was so frustrated. With her and myself. I was over reacting and I knew it. I wasn't mad at Alyssa.

I was mad at Tom over an issue we'd discussed earlier in the evening and poor Lyssie was the one who was there to deal with my tantrum.

And I apologized and I hugged and kissed her goodnight and promised her that today would be better.

And it has been...so far. If she asks for ice cream tonight, I'll get it without complaint. I'll be the grown up, the mother.

And yes...marriage takes a lot of work but when one partner feels as if they are doing 90% of the work and the other partner is, sometimes, putting in his/her 10%, it even tougher than those marriages where it's a little more equal.

But perhaps that's a topic for another day.

Today I'm just a mom who didn't make the best choices last night. I'm hoping to consciously make better choices in the hours, days, weeks, months, years to come.

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