Brat

There is this person who lives inside my adult body who...isn't an adult.

She's an eleven year old brat who wants to sleep in on the weekends (and on week days), read smut in the bathtub instead of scrubbing the tub, eat peppermint patties for dinner and take a nap instead of exercise.

This weekend, that brat was mean to Alyssa.

On Saturday morning, the girls were lovely enough to let me and my inner brat (tm Julie) sleep in until 8:30. I forced the brat up at that point and we made our way downstairs where my brat was buried long enough for me to make the girls breakfast and actually get some painting done.

But that evening, the brat stayed up too late and so when 7:45 rolled around on Sunday morning and Olivia was up saying she was hungry and Alyssa was awake complaining about her pull-up leaking and needing a shower, my brat reared her ugly head.

She insisted that Alyssa get up and shower on her own. Because, duh, she was right there in bedroom, which is next to the bathroom.

I did supress the brat long enough to go get Olivia a banana.

But Alyssa. Poor little Alyssa. She whined and my brat's head ached and we snipped back and forth about how she could shower all by herself because she's BIG now.

And the brat even told her, "I'm going to be so mad at you if you make me get up and get you in that shower myself."

And she started to climb back into bed.

The brat was furious. She was so spitting mad. She was tired and her head really did hurt (probably from too many peppermint patties in the tub the night before when she really should have been in bed.)

So she got up and stormed to the bathroom, where she started the shower.

She shouted for Alyssa to get her butt in that bathroom RIGHT NOW.

She ignored Olivia's tiny shriek of dismay at the raised voice.

Alyssa entered the bathroom sheepishly and was ordered to get that pull-up off and get into that shower.

Then, the brat stood there and stewed while her child, her seven year old child, showered and her three year old child sidled up to her and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Oh.

Oh dear lord.

The brat buried her head and shriveled up and wanted to just cry.

And the mommy came out and she picked up that little tiny girl and whispered, "No, Sweetie. I'm sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all."

And when Alyssa stepped out of the shower, the mommy wrapped her gently in a towel and dried her off.

She helped both girls get dressed and made breakfast, praying, praying, praying that there are more good days than bad moments.

And moments like that? Those moments I'm so ashamed of? Those are the moments I keep close to the surface of my memory, not so much to wallow in guilt, though, oh yes, the guilt is there. But more to remind myself that I don't want to be that person, that mean mom who treats her children that way. That person who causes her three year old apologize to her because the MOTHER is a brat.

My inner brat is a constant source of frustration for me. I need to discipline her, train her that it's not all about her. I need to remember that sometimes, most times, it's not about me anymore. It's about them. About teaching them to curb their own inner brats, their own demons.

Balance.

I need to work on that one.