Letting Go {Confessions of a Control Freak}

This morning Abby appointed herself Diane Sawyer of our house.  From the moment she got out of bed, she commented constantly: "I can't believe that it's only 8:00 when it should be 9:00.  Isn't that just so weird?  I mean, it doesn't feel like 8:00, does it?"  And then she would change the time in five minute increments and repeat the same statement.

She also had a running commentary for the bread-making process that was going on in the kitchen.  Yes, made bread because I forgot to buy bread yesterday, but really, making bread at home is so much cheaper, anyway.  And also, a side benefit:  kneading the bread helps me get some frustration out.  And I have a lot of pent-up frustration.  Anyway, the girl has watched me make bread for years, I used to do it every weekend, but today?  Today, she questioned everything...How much flour was I using?  What kind of yeast was I using?  What was the temperature of the water?  How long did it take to rise?  Why did I have to roll it up?  Why was I putting plastic wrap over the bowl?  How many loaves of bread was it going to make?  Could I use wheat flour instead of white?  Can she taste-test the bread when it comes out of the oven?  How long does it bake at?  How do you know when it's done?  How long does it take to get to space?  Will we live on the moon someday?  Can she play chords on her flute like she can on a piano?  What is the answer to the mathematical equation: (x+y)(z-x-x-x+y)/r?

Finn rolled around under my feet, singing nonsense songs and pooping his pants every other minute, and then, when I put him on the counter to keep from crushing his little hands beneath my feet, he tried to eat the bread dough.  And then it was 10:00 and I needed to make another pot of coffee.  And cry.

So I put a movie on for the kids.  I never do that...plant them in front of the television, I mean, but this morning I had had just about enough.  Enough questions.  Enough poop.  Enough stepping on damned tupperware all over the kitchen floor.  Enough.

I feel like a bad mom, but my kids were so damned annoying this morning.  Short of going out for cigarettes and not coming back, I don't think I had another choice.   I mean, is it really too much to ask to be able to take a shower...to be able to shampoo and condition...without hearing the drawers opening, stuff being dumped out, the toilet seat crashing, the toilet handle wiggling and a little hand pounding on the shower door? I have really nice body wash and I can't even enjoy it because my shower is rushed.

And it's my own fault because I'm sucking at this whole mom thing these days.

I should probably take more of an advantage with having Abby in the house and let her entertain Finn for me, but I have this issue with control.  I don't know if you know this about me, I'm certain I hide it really well, but I like to be in control.  All of the time.  Constantly.  And Abby is opinionated.  Very opinionated.  She likes to share her thoughts and ideas (what I feel are judgments), and she has good intentions, I'm sure, but to me, her telling me that Finn's teeth hurt screams:  "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"  when she's really just trying to be helpful.

Here's a stellar example of my suckyness as a mom:  before Finn was born, I freaked out.  I was not okay with the not knowing how to be a mom, what the kid's personality was going to be like and how dramatically our lives were going to change once he got here.  I like to be prepared for things.  I took my anxiety out on everyone around me, mostly my husband and Abby, so in order to quash some of my fears and anxiety, and to bypass some of Abby's well-meaning "advice," we told her that when we brought the baby home, if we wanted her opinion on something, we would ask her.

That lasted about 2 weeks, until Finn decided that from 7pm-11pm, he was going to cry and be inconsolable and mostly just make a hot mess out of our family. Abby had a solution every time he took up his evening wail-song.  Finn's crying again?  Feed him.  Finn's crying again?  Rock him.  Finn's crying again?  Change his diaper.  Finn's crying again?  It's probably because you suck as parents. 

I sent her outside to play a lot that summer so that I could cry into my newborn's head and lament my decision to be a mom and how little control I had over this new family of mine.

Today, I lamented becoming a mom into my coffee cup because I couldn't send my kids outside to play.  Instead I stuck them in front of a movie - something I said I was never going to do - along with bottle feeding, pacifiers, and letting Finn sleep in bed  with us - and all things that I've done.  Sucking as a mom times four. 

I'm annoyed with this little life that I've created.  I'm annoyed with myself because I'm annoyed with my life.  I shouldn't feel that way, right?  I have healthy kids and a husband who loves me.  I have a house and my car is paid off and I get to work a couple of days a week, not because I have to but because I want to.  But I'm annoyed that everything is going too quickly and too slowly all at the same time.  I'm tired of fighting with Abby as she stretches the boundaries and tires to assert her independence.  I want her to be more responsible, but I know I'm holding her back from that by not allowing her to actually be more responsible.  I want her to act more grown up, but I know that I'm keeping her a kid by not giving her the opportunity to make dinner once in awhile, something she's been begging to do for a couple of months now.  But giving up making dinner means giving up some of the control I have in how our night runs...and my palms get sweaty just thinking about it.  I want Finn to be a big boy, but I'm keeping him a baby by picking him up and carrying him places.  And even though I tell myself it's because it's so much faster that way, I really just want to keep him small for a little longer.

I want all of the control and in the process, I'm loosing out on everything else.

Give up some of the control, I keep telling myself.
Let her make dinner.  Let him walk into the grocery store on his own two little feet.

Let go...let go...let go...

This morning Abby appointed herself Diane Sawyer of our house.  From the moment she got out of bed, she commented constantly: "I can't believe that it's only 8:00 when it should be 9:00.  Isn't that just so weird?  I mean, it doesn't feel like 8:00, does it?"  And then she would change the time in five minute increments and repeat the same statement.

She also had a running commentary for the bread-making process that was going on in the kitchen.  Yes, made bread because I forgot to buy bread yesterday, but really, making bread at home is so much cheaper, anyway.  And also, a side benefit:  kneading the bread helps me get some frustration out.  And I have a lot of pent-up frustration.  Anyway, the girl has watched me make bread for years, I used to do it every weekend, but today?  Today, she questioned everything...How much flour was I using?  What kind of yeast was I using?  What was the temperature of the water?  How long did it take to rise?  Why did I have to roll it up?  Why was I putting plastic wrap over the bowl?  How many loaves of bread was it going to make?  Could I use wheat flour instead of white?  Can she taste-test the bread when it comes out of the oven?  How long does it bake at?  How do you know when it's done?  How long does it take to get to space?  Will we live on the moon someday?  Can she play chords on her flute like she can on a piano?  What is the answer to the mathematical equation: (x+y)(z-x-x-x+y)/r?

Finn rolled around under my feet, singing nonsense songs and pooping his pants every other minute, and then, when I put him on the counter to keep from crushing his little hands beneath my feet, he tried to eat the bread dough.  And then it was 10:00 and I needed to make another pot of coffee.  And cry.

So I put a movie on for the kids.  I never do that...plant them in front of the television, I mean, but this morning I had had just about enough.  Enough questions.  Enough poop.  Enough stepping on damned tupperware all over the kitchen floor.  Enough.

I feel like a bad mom, but my kids were so damned annoying this morning.  Short of going out for cigarettes and not coming back, I don't think I had another choice.   I mean, is it really too much to ask to be able to take a shower...to be able to shampoo and condition...without hearing the drawers opening, stuff being dumped out, the toilet seat crashing, the toilet handle wiggling and a little hand pounding on the shower door? I have really nice body wash and I can't even enjoy it because my shower is rushed.

And it's my own fault because I'm sucking at this whole mom thing these days.

I should probably take more of an advantage with having Abby in the house and let her entertain Finn for me, but I have this issue with control.  I don't know if you know this about me, I'm certain I hide it really well, but I like to be in control.  All of the time.  Constantly.  And Abby is opinionated.  Very opinionated.  She likes to share her thoughts and ideas (what I feel are judgments), and she has good intentions, I'm sure, but to me, her telling me that Finn's teeth hurt screams:  "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"  when she's really just trying to be helpful.

Here's a stellar example of my suckyness as a mom:  before Finn was born, I freaked out.  I was not okay with the not knowing how to be a mom, what the kid's personality was going to be like and how dramatically our lives were going to change once he got here.  I like to be prepared for things.  I took my anxiety out on everyone around me, mostly my husband and Abby, so in order to quash some of my fears and anxiety, and to bypass some of Abby's well-meaning "advice," we told her that when we brought the baby home, if we wanted her opinion on something, we would ask her.

That lasted about 2 weeks, until Finn decided that from 7pm-11pm, he was going to cry and be inconsolable and mostly just make a hot mess out of our family. Abby had a solution every time he took up his evening wail-song.  Finn's crying again?  Feed him.  Finn's crying again?  Rock him.  Finn's crying again?  Change his diaper.  Finn's crying again?  It's probably because you suck as parents. 

I sent her outside to play a lot that summer so that I could cry into my newborn's head and lament my decision to be a mom and how little control I had over this new family of mine.

Today, I lamented becoming a mom into my coffee cup because I couldn't send my kids outside to play.  Instead I stuck them in front of a movie - something I said I was never going to do - along with bottle feeding, pacifiers, and letting Finn sleep in bed  with us - and all things that I've done.  Sucking as a mom times four. 

I'm annoyed with this little life that I've created.  I'm annoyed with myself because I'm annoyed with my life.  I shouldn't feel that way, right?  I have healthy kids and a husband who loves me.  I have a house and my car is paid off and I get to work a couple of days a week, not because I have to but because I want to.  But I'm annoyed that everything is going too quickly and too slowly all at the same time.  I'm tired of fighting with Abby as she stretches the boundaries and tires to assert her independence.  I want her to be more responsible, but I know I'm holding her back from that by not allowing her to actually be more responsible.  I want her to act more grown up, but I know that I'm keeping her a kid by not giving her the opportunity to make dinner once in awhile, something she's been begging to do for a couple of months now.  But giving up making dinner means giving up some of the control I have in how our night runs...and my palms get sweaty just thinking about it.  I want Finn to be a big boy, but I'm keeping him a baby by picking him up and carrying him places.  And even though I tell myself it's because it's so much faster that way, I really just want to keep him small for a little longer.

I want all of the control and in the process, I'm loosing out on everything else.

Give up some of the control, I keep telling myself.
Let her make dinner.  Let him walk into the grocery store on his own two little feet.

Let go...let go...let go...