Cleaning Fail? Parenting Fail? You're both right.

Not even two weeks ago, I blogged about how much I needed a break. I was exhausted, I was stressed out, and I was panicking about getting read for our upcoming trip. I took exactly two days off from blogging, missed it terribly, and jumped right back in.

Yesterday, I was back in panic mode. We leave for our trip in 12 days, and it still feels like there are mountains to climb before we do. Making matters worse is the fact that I'm the only one who feels that way. Mike simply doesn't stress out about much of anything, and the kids are just looking forward to a fun vacation (as they should be)

Sunday night was a rough night. I wasn't feeling well; Everett had a nightmare very early on, and was in our bed the rest of the night; Tegan was tossing and turning and kicking even more than usual; I ended up sleeping in a ball on the end of our bed. The big boys were up past 2:00 (which is not unusual for them) but were woken by Tegan far too early in the morning. Everyone was tired and grumpy, and what I should have done was given us all a free day... a no obligation, lounge around, rest and recoup kind of Monday.

But, oh no. We had 13 days left. We had to CLEAN!

I started with my own desk, and instead of leaving well enough alone, I then decided it was imperative that I tackle the computer room.

This is the 'after' picture, but the girl had already dumped something out again.

This room has been a thorn in my side since we moved in to this house nearly 5 years ago. It looked like it was originally a formal dining room (judging partly from the big chandalier that once hung in the middle of the ceiling), but the previous owners didn't seem to know what to do with it either. When we first toured the house, it was mostly empty, save for a little couch in the corner. For us, it has always served as a computer room slash project room slash collector of random, miscellaneous stuff. It's always a mess, and yesterday I was going to clean it.

I asked the kids to help me, but they were too tired. (Of course they were too tired; No one got any sleep). I asked them again. Spencer was half asleep on the couch, Paxton was engrossed in a computer game, and Tegan and Everett were chasing each other around the house. No one really answered me.

And again, I should have taken the hint, followed their lead - and my own level of exhaustion - and rested. Instead, as if possessed by some mop-wielding inner demon, I became that mom. The stomping, huffing, sighing, "fine, I'll do it myself", martyr of a mom. For the next hour, I was noisily moving chairs and bookshelves, digging stuff out from beneath the desks, flinging sweeping wayward toys and papers and books and tools to the center of the room to sort through. Spencer had fallen asleep by then, Paxton was calmly moving out of my way as I cleaned around him, and the little ones had wisely moved their play to another room, lest they accidentally witness the embarrassment of their mom in the throes of her tantrum.

It really wasn't my finest moment.

I was tired, I was irritated, and I couldn't even enjoy the fruits of my labor once I'd finished.  Who can enjoy something they'd done with the wrong attitude in the first place?

I do still want to get the house clean before we go.  But not like that.  Today, I will get a grip and remember what's important.  I'll listen to my kids, listen to my own body, and save the cleaning for another dang day if need be.

And if all else fails, I'll stick to the kitchen side of the house, and avoid the computer room completely. 




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Why I don't cry (or yell) over spilled milk

Last week - actually, a week ago today - Tegan (3 years old at the time of this writing) threw Spencer's shoes in a lake at a park. It wasn't the first time that his footwear had met a body of water at Tegan's hand. That was last month, in our friends' pool.

This time, it was here:

We were all sitting around, barefoot, enjoying the grass and the breeze. She spotted his shoes, was struck with, uh... inspiration... and before anyone could stop her, had taken off for the water with the shoes in hand. The next thing we knew, the shoes were floating gracefully away, while I scrambled to my feet to find a stick or something with which to go fishing.

Have you ever seen a 6 and a 10 year old try to hang on to a 130 pound woman to keep her from falling headlong into water while she precariously leaned on her tiptoes trying to retrieve two floating sneakers with a flimsy branch? You missed a good show. But I did eventually fish them out, returned them to their owner, and we all went about our day.

Afterward, my friend's 7 year old son - Everett's best friend - said to his mother, "Wow, Jennifer NEVER gets mad! I never see her get mad about anything!"

It was a nice thing to hear. Not entirely accurate mind you, but nice. I do get mad occasionally (although the older I get, the less I find actually worthy of getting mad about). But I wasn't mad about the shoes in the water.

I'm not mad when someone spills.

I'm not mad when someone makes a mess.

I'm not mad when something gets broken.

I'm not mad when my kids act like kids.

And it's not that I'm more patient than the next person - because I'm really not - it's just that I made a decision a long time ago... I decided that some things mattered, and some things did not. Shoes in water do not matter. Spilled milk does not matter. Broken cameras do. not. matter.

My kids matter.

My relationships with my kids matter.

Even in those moments when I do get frustrated (or more accurately, especially in those moments when I do get frustrated), I remind myself that it's a decision, and I come to the same conclusion every time: 

What matters is my kids.

Spencer's shoes were safely recovered that day, but even if they'd irretrievably sunk to the bottom, what purpose could anger have possibly served? Responding in anger would not only have not helped the situation, it also would have damaged my relationship with my daughter. Every time we respond to our kids in anger, it damages our relationship. Every time we respond in anger, it takes us further away from our goal of peace, harmony and mutual respect.

My daughter is more important than a $20 pair of shoes. 

A few months ago, she accidentally pulled my Nikon off the counter, damaging it beyond repair.  She's more important than a $600 camera too.   Shoes, cameras, houses, cars.... all small stuff compared to my kids. 

Randy Pausch, the Carnegie Mellon University professor who delivered his famous Last Lecture to his class (which was later turned into a book of the same name) before he died from cancer in 2008, illustrated this in such a beautiful - if a bit extreme - way.  He'd just gotten a fancy new convertible, and his sister was harping on her children, Randy's niece and nephew, to be careful.  Don't mess up the new car.  Be careful around the new car.  Don't spill anything in the new car.  Randy, putting his niece and nephew first, basically told her to relax.  He walked to the car, poured an entire soda on the back seat, and said, 

"It's just a car."

And at the end of the day, it's ALL just a car.  Just a pair of shoes.  Just a camera.  None of it is worth getting upset about.  None of it is worth getting mad about.  None of it matters.  

What matters is our kids.  What matters is our relationships with our kids.  None of us is guaranteed a tomorrow with our children.  And I don't know about you, but I therefore want to live each moment as if it were the last.... and if it were the last, I wouldn't want to know that I'd wasted time - wasted even a second - being concerned, or upset, or angry about the small stuff.  

..... and it's all small stuff.

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