Mother’s Day 2010 will go down as the worst ever for me. Not because hubby was gone (or at least, not directly because he was), but because I didn’t even want to celebrate it because the kids have been a tad, um, inconsiderate lately (to put it nicely).
Between being sick and trying to manage the entire house on my own, I needed help and half-expected my children to come to my rescue as they watched their mother doubled-over in pain. They always have before. They were the back-rubbing-ers when mommy’s back ached. The shoe-puttin’-on-ers when mommy couldn’t see her toes nine months pregnant. The cuddlers when mommy hadn’t gotten any sleep.
I wish I knew what has changed.
These past few weeks, it’s been about video games, playing outside, friends and toys and mom doesn’t seem to rate as high of importance anymore, even when stuck on the couch, unable to move, and in a lot of pain.
It hurt me deeply, I won’t lie. It stung horribly to see the seemingly uncaring glaze in their eyes when I had to ask for help, let alone ask repeatedly. Needless to say, the straw that broke mommy’s back was the knock at the door I received, a neighbor holding my Baby Dude, whom she had fetched when he escaped out the (supposedly-locked) back door while my older, supposed-to-be-responsible children were there in the living room to watch him (not the TV) because I needed a second (third and fourth) set of eyes while I was cooking/preparing a shopping list/using the bathroom.
I’d had it. I flipped out. They were uber-grounded. I. Lost. It.
And, because they were grounded, as a result, they wreaked havoc on my once-clean upstairs. Sure, they were playing with everything we had in the house, but come on, to not put anything back? And destruction to boot? Every bedroom, every closet (playing hide-and-go-seek). They found foam peanuts in a box and shredded ’em to bits like confetti. They knocked over boxes filled with out-of-season clothes and didn’t pick them up. Took book covers off of hardback books and left them on the floor. Dirty clothes, wet towels, toys everywhere. Total disrespect. I apparently fail at mothering. Can you tell why I didn’t want to celebrate?
In fact, while most mothers woke up to breakfast in bed and homemade cards, I woke up to demands for breakfast, tattle tale-ing and my son admonishing me for not remembering to call the Tooth Fairy for his lost tooth. No “Happy Mother’s Day” to me, no cards, no drawn anything. They didn’t even remember until I was unloading and reloading the dishwasher, halfway through a breakfast I cooked for them, mid-chew, to tell me, mouth’s full (I like to think they were filled with guilt).
I spent most of my day curled in a ball, feeling awful from both being sick and feeling ill over what has gone wrong in our home. I stayed offline, too. I couldn’t bare to read the happy updates of fellow mothers being cherished while my children didn’t seem to even care that I was even sick, let alone care that they had hurt my feelings by not helping. All without my husband, too.
I didn’t want celebration. I just wanted caring. I just wanted compassion. Kindness. Help. Gift-wrap optional.
I’m unsure what I’m doing wrong, as anyone who reads this blog knows the love I have for my children, and outpouring of affection I have for them. Perhaps I’m too much of a mush? Perhaps I do too much? Am I smothering them? Are they using me? What has happened, that my children have gotten so caught up in their own little lives to forget to help their loved ones, and help out their mother (ahem, me).
I wish I knew.
I know they love me, but I sure didn’t feel it this weekend, or these past two weeks. That’s for sure.
In the meantime, my beautiful husband made me the most beautiful photo montage of our children, set to one of the most emotionally charged pieces of music I know of – Josh Groban’s “You Raise Me Up”. Yeah, I know. Holy tears, Batman. I love that man. I thank my lucky stars for him.
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