Passing It On

Disclaimer:  There is a naughty word in this one.  Try holding back the four letter words when you drop a full gallon of milk from the fridge.  There were milk splatters within a 6ft radius of the fridge.  (NOTE: I didn't actually say this word, I just thought it.  Over, and over, and over.)

As parents, what is our role?
Is it to do our best, with what we have, to raise independent, strong people?  Are there more words, perhaps, better words to describe the process of raising kids?  Probably.  But I'm tired.  Spent.  Let me give you a glimpse into the day we've had.

I'm trying to rest a little more because braxton hicks contractions have become a daily part of my routine.  Y'know, my uterus is contracting.  Every day.  In preparation for birth.  Which is approximately 13-15,000 weeks away...
Moms don't get sick days though, so instead of putting up my feet and hydrating, our day began at 6:24am, and hasn't stopped since.
Cue:  Ellie crying.  6:24am.  Audrey is already in our bed because at some point in the night, a time which neither of us can pinpoint, she scampered in.
"Mom, Ellie's awake.  Can I watch a cartoon on your phone?"
"No, Audrey.  It's still night time and Ellie is going to join us so we can all get some more sleep."

Ha HAHA ha..haha

No one else thinks this is a good idea.
So, at 6:24am, every person in our house started their day.

I am trying to be extra grateful, and patient and loving because in our extended family, there have been three deaths in the past couple of weeks.
I know that funerals shouldn't motivate me to be my best, but they do encourage me to appreciate the things that I might normally yell about.

I dragged my butt around until about 10am.  I tried to avoid doing anything, because, remember? I am supposed to be resting?  However, no one else thinks this is a good idea.

Cue:  Audrey comes downstairs wearing no pants (the pants were pj bottoms.  Try not to judge), carrying two hand towels from our bathroom.
"What happened, Audrey?"
"Well, Mom, it was just a' accident.  It's OK."
"OKaaaaaaaaaaaaay, so what happenend?"
"Well, I just went pee on your toilet, but then there was more pee.  A lot more pee, and I wasn't on the toilet anymore.  But it's OK.  I cleaned it up."

So, I try to follow her trail and clean up all the droplets of pee, pee towels and, somehow, the pile of pee covered pj's and undies on our bathroom floor.

At this point, I'm thinking that I'm entitled to a "get-out-of-jail-free-card" for the rest of the day.  There can't possibly be more than cleaning pee.  All.  Through.  Your.  House.

The universe had other plans.

Not 10 minutes later, there was about a half gallon of milk spilled from one end of the kitchen to the other end of the living room.
Because it fell out of the fridge.

The first thing out of Audrey's mouth after this happenend?
"Mom, why did you put the apple juice like that.  You made the milk fall out."

Now, when one has an accident, or makes a mistake, why is the first instinct to think, "WHO THE FUCK CAUSED THIS/MADE THIS HAPPEN TO ME?!?!"

We try to place blame onto someone else, immediately, because we're trying to avoid admitting that we've made this mistake.
That would mean admitting that we're imperfect.  That we did something wrong.  That we're (gasp) fallible.
And it appears, my husband and I are passing this onto to our kids.

Yuck.
There's no easier way to see your own flaws, than when they start pouring out of your babes' mouths, or showing up in their behaviours.

Also, it's easier to identify these traits, and hopefully make a few positive changes so that everyone benefits!

So, I am resolving to be more accountable for my actions.  To show my kids that it's OK to make mistakes and that finding out who did what, or how such and such happened, is secondary.  Period.  It's powerful to own your actions and mistakes, and it's so important for them to know that looking for someone to blame only creates a loser out of a situation that has neither a winner, nor a loser.

And the day carried on - one child ate the rest of an advent calendar in our bed and wiped their chocolate hands on our sheets.
Deliver said child to preschool after threatening to take away school several times (I'm weak, I know), put other child down for MUCH needed nap, have dog wake child after 25 minutes, only to have her proceed to tear the lower portion of the house apart...including, but not limited to, taking all of the folded clothes out of the hamper, removing all 300 pairs of shoes from the closet, playing with precisely 7 toys from 7 different bins...
And then it's time to retrieve older child from school and begin again.

Is it beditme yet?