I was a very bad mommy this morning. By 8am, Haley was late for school, Shane was crying in frustration, and my 20 month old daughter had pointed at me accusingly and said, “Grumpy, grumpy mommy!”

The morning started innocently enough. Shane woke up and began to repeatedly ask me, “When is Daddy coming home?” This was information he already knew because we had discussed this very topic ad-nauseum yesterday. After the tenth time of patiently explaining to him that daddy was on a work trip and would be returning home later this evening, I lost it.

“Shane,” I tried to remain calm, “I do not want to talk about this anymore. You know what the answer is.”

“But Mommy,” Shane was convinced that if he asked me just one more time the outcome might change, “Is Daddy coming home after school or tonight? Because Daddy said I can talk to him on the computer. Can we please go on Skype right now?”

Shane knew good and well that his Technologically Retarded Mother could not figure out how to use Skype if her life depended on it. “Shane the answer is NO! If you need to keep talking about this, go to your room!” Bad Mommy Strike One. Of course I should have been more patient with my son because he was missing his daddy and wanted to connect with him. But it wasn’t even 7 am yet, and I certainly wasn’t caffeinated enough to deal with this crap.

I got Kiana out of her crib and into her high-chair for breakfast. “Shane,” I ordered like a drill sargeant,  “Breakfast is ready now!”

He stomped up to the table, “I don’t want eggs. I want marshmallows and sprinkled cheese!” Shane was pushing all my buttons. I knew I shouldn’t react, but I couldn’t seem to control myself.

“Sit down and eat your breakfast now or there will not be any TV for the rest of the day!” Bad Mommy Strike Two, and it wasn’t looking very good for me. I know Shane’s reaction had nothing to do with breakfast. We were in a power struggle and he was fighting for some control. On my “good mommy” days, I don’t engage in these battles with him. I acknowledge his real feelings and we both quickly move on. I know better than threatening my kids. I especially don’t believe, under any circumstances, in demanding that my children eat their meals. I should have said, “O.k. then don’t eat breakfast,” and let him bear the natural consequence of feeling hungry until snack-time. But I was hooked into the drama and I was prepared to die on this hill.

Haley then came downstairs. “Don’t forget I need to be at school by 7:30 and you are doing snack for my volleyball game today.” I forgot that I was the Snack Mom today. Bad Mommy Strike Three and I was out. I was going to be stuck on the Bad Mommy Bench all day long, where I would ruminate about all the ways in which I have failed and disappointed my children. I needed to immediately load up my kids in the car and get over to Ralphs to purchase a nut-free snack and refined-sugar free beverage for 20 kids. My two youngest children were still in their pajamas.

“Get Shane and Kiana in the car. I will be there in a sec!” I decided I could not, under any circumstances, go to Ralphs again bra-less and in my pajamas. It was just too demoralizing.

I got in the car and Shane and Kiana were both screaming. Shane kept whining, “I’m soooo hungry” and Kiana kept screeching, “No Shanie!!!” as Shane poked at and tickled her.

“Both of you stop it!” I growled in my Darth Vedar tone. I sped to Ralphs and left Haley in the car with Shane and Kiana. I had already struck out, so why not continue on my failing path? I grabbed the first nut-free cookies I could find. I got back in the car and Shane said, “I am so hungry! What is in those bags?”

“Cookies and juice boxes” Haley replied innocently, “For my volleyball game later.” My children are only permitted to eat cookies and drink juice boxes on special occasions. Haley might as well had told a junkie in detox that she had scored some dope.

The next 10 minutes as I sped down Barrington Avenue, both Shane and Kiana were in near hysterics, “Cookies, mommy!” Kiana shrieked. ” Why can’t I have just one cookie and a juice box?” Shane begged.

“Shane, do not talk to me anymore. If you speak, I won’t answer.” I was currently incapable of saying any word that wasn’t profane. I knew when to keep my mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” Haley whispered “For mentioning the cookies.”

“Don’t worry about it” I muttered.

“Mommy” Shane couldn’t shut up, “Why is Haley allowed to talk to you but I’m not?”

“I am very, very grumpy this morning!” I was actually behaving like a nasty, dragon-bitch from hell, but “grumpy” was the best euphemism I could come up with. “I don’t want to talk right now!”

“Grumpy mommy” Kiana agreed, “Grumpy, grumpy, mommy. Cookie please? she begged.

I dropped Haley off at school and dropped Kiana off  at home into the arms of my angelic housekeeper. As I was driving Shane to school, I was dripping in shame over my atrocious behavior. We got there early and sat out on the patio. “Shane, I am so, so sorry for being grumpy with you this morning,” I confessed, begging for him to absolve me of my sins.

“Mommy, let’s go inside. Can you read me Cinderella before school starts?”

“But Shane, ” I wrapped my arms around him, “I am so sorry. Are you upset about how I talked to you this morning?” Nothing like having a therapist for a mom, as I attempted to cajole my child into “processing his feelings.”

Shane disentangled himself from my embrace and danced on the bricks, “Mommy you know what you did and I know what you did. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

I took him in to the library before school started and read him Cinderella.  When I got to the part about the cruel and evil step-mother, a “vain and horrible woman”, I felt like the book was describing me.

When I fall short in my efforts as a mother and find myself saying and doing all those things I swore I’d never say or do, sometimes the best I can do is sincerely apologize to my children. While I can’t take back my words or actions, I can certainly admit that I am human and that I have made a mistake. That way, they are hopefully not left feeling that they are somehow responsible for my awful behavior.

I know what I should’ve done and how I could’ve responded to the stress of the morning. But I fucked- up, pure and simple. And now I needed to live with my guilt, and I certainly couldn’t ask my 4 year old son to act as a priest and forgive my sins while we were on the patio of his Jewish preschool.

I know I will have to make amends to Haley later on in the day, and I will have to find a way to apologize to Kiana in terms that she can understand, as well.

Lastly, I will need to find a way to forgive myself for being so very imperfect, for once again bursting my facade of the Perfect Mommy. Perhaps the next time my buttons get pushed, I will be able to react differently. And when I notice some mom at the market speaking to her children in a demeaning or thoughtless way, I will have more compassion for her than judgement and know that she is probably doing the best she can in that moment.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 18th, 2009 at 2:17 pm and is filed under 1. Angst Mom Essays. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.