Pause. Breathe. Pause again.

Pause. Breathe. Pause again. Now, write…

For the last few weeks I have been struggling with, well, parenting. I’ve been toeing that mom line of super-lame and short-tempered – both characteristics which are so very ugly on me. The part that hurts the most is that I know it. I know I’m out of touch with the person I prefer to be – the one my kids like. Heck, the one my husband likes. And when you know it, it’s like a bajillion times worse than when you’re blind to it.

I hope it’s true when I say this: We all go through periods like this. The times when we feel like nothing we do is good enough or that life is passing us by while we irrationally tidy our living rooms for non-existent company while our kids are begging us to play hide and seek or requesting a glass of milk for the 25th time. When our priorities are so out of whack because the length of our to-do list has reached pages in the double digits and the idea of sitting down to play pretend sounds like a literal fairy tail. These periods? They suck.

Today was a day that shall go down in the History of Me as one of my weakest. I lugged both kids into their respective schools in the pounding sleet and hail. I spilled coffee on my white (yes, I chose white) shirt and spent a majority of my meetings adjusting my scarf to hide the big, brown stain of shame. I cried at my desk for damn near no reason at all. Like, over and over and over. I floated through my job in the kind of blank, existential manner that gets most people sent home. So, I went home.

I got a good ol’ fashioned unfounded cry out of my system and set out a quick dinner for the kids to enjoy before swimming lessons. We chatted quietly as the kids ate their food. Nate put two Whoppers on each of their plates mid-meal, distracting them completely from finishing their actual meals. Why? Why right then? They were eating so well. We were able to hear each other talk. It was lovely! And now – right now – my husband decides that CHOCOLATE is the best idea!? I don’t know which part of myself I hated more in that moment: The part that cared about the actual health detriment of mid-meal malt balls or the part that cared at ALL. I excused myself from the table since I was actually starting to worry myself.

Pause. Breathe. Pause again. Now, live…

I brought myself back into the kitchen and told my son I was going to take him to swimming. Instead of sitting behind the glass window checking email on my phone, I participated in every sideways glance and subtle wave he offered my direction during his entire lesson. I watched him and smiled because he’s really getting good at swimming! In the changing room, I participated in his “turn-the-lights-off” game by making monster noises instead of my typical “turn-the-lights-on, it’s-time-to-get-going!” routine. On the car ride home, we talked about Mario Kart because that’s the topic he chose. No pushing to learn what happened at school, no talk of weekend plans, nothing but 100% straight Mario Kart.  I learned about the strengths and weaknesses of Yoshi vs. Toad and promised him a competitive game on the N64 when we got home.  I took time to cuddle with my daughter while cheering on my son in his feat to defeat Bowser. I had a heart-to-heart with Nate about my emotional outpouring and got nothing but nods and support in return. I engaged with my family tonight. I lived a little more than I had in the past few weeks. And it made my heart dance.

Before bed, I tucked in the kiddos while chatting about friends and recess and fire safety (my son brought up that one). Nate read them a book and I sat in the top bunk with my 5-year old for a bit. When the room grew silent, he reached his hand down towards me and asked me to hold it. Gah! Super-lame, short-tempered mama hadn’t been offered a hand in quite some time. I smiled and vowed then and there to ditch this phase of “mommy cray-cray” and replace it with something a teensy bit more real. Something more relatable. Something more composed. Something more fun.

I may not serve them chocolate for dinner, but I can gradually creep closer to that middle line…which is exactly what I plan on doing.

Now…enough midnight pausing…this laundry’s not going to fold itself!