Mamalicious!

I think I mentioned in another post recently that mothering is wearing me out. Now, let me dispense with the usual caveats: I have great kids. Smart, beautiful, kind-hearted, loving kids. I love them with everything I have, and I am extraordinarily blessed to be their mother. And my parenting gig is a way easier than that of people parenting under different circumstances or with far fewer resources than I have. It’s all relative. That said…

Mothering is wearing me out. I tried to think about what was most draining, and I think it’s all the talking. Little girls never, ever stop talking. From the time they get home from school, to the moment they lay their heads on their pillows (actually, not even then because right after I tuck them in, inevitably someone asks me what I’m going to do when I go downstairs or if I can bring them a glass of water or if I’m sure I’m going to come back up and check on them later)–for about 5-and-a-half hours straight each day, they never, ever stop talking.

And those of us who do not want to stifle our girl-children in any way, we indulge and encourage their endless inquiries, their inner-Chatty Cathy. The result: I’m forced to talk way more than I’d like to, about subjects that make my brain hurt, like “Mommy, what makes the traffic lights work?” and “Mommy, what if I’m at school, and I start to say, ‘hello’ to somebody, but I get cut off, and all I’m able to say is ‘hell–’, would I get in trouble for cursing?’

Cute, right? Wonderfully curious, budding scientists, linguists, and trial lawyers, and all that. Yeah.

But after about 30 minutes of it…I’m fried. Maybe other people have a greater tolerance, but I live in my own head a lot in the absence of something really, really holding my attention, and more than about thirty minutes of such conversations make my attention want to run and hide.

In her essay in the collection Rise Up Singing: Black Women Writers on Motherhood, writer Martha Southgate feels my pain. She writes:

“I love my children, enormously. I’m a fairly good parent, but it’s not easy for me. It’s not easy for anyone, but I find it harder than most. Family life — taking care of others, the bump and rub of a group — I’ve never been comfortable with it. My children’s needs intrude, on my need for solitude, reflection, selfishness, time to be. I resent it. I try not to let my resentment affect my parenting, but I must be honest. As I become more serious about my work as an artist, I am less patient with . . . all the minutiae that fragment a mother’s day.”

Actually, she’s feeling more pain than I am, but not by much.

Compounding all the chatter are my children’s individual personalities, the clashes between the two, and the fact that I have to referee this madness. In this corner, there’s Mini-Me, age 9, who has inhereted the near-absurd sense of justice and fairness that I was plagued with as a child. Everything must be fair, right, logical, and…nice. Too bad for her she has a sister, five years younger, BG, who is such a contrarian, she makes Christopher Hitchens look like Kofi Annan. Nice schmice…BG’s favorite word lately is “buttcheek”, and she has perfected her maniacal laughter.

This morning in the car on the way to school, Mini-Me complained about having to surrender toys and such to BabyGirl sometimes, just to keep the peace. As I’ve done many times before, I first empathized (”Sucks to have to be the bigger person sometimes”), then I reminded her that it’s not all the time that we ask her to be the peacekeeper, that it’s an important thing to learn to choose one’s battles. I also shared with her a great quote I learned from one of my professors in grad school. He taught in an inclusive elementary school classroom, and to deal with the issue of some students feeling that it was unfair for other students to get special services or leeway or classwork, he taught them this: Fair is not everyone getting the same thing. Fair is getting what you need.

Mini-Me is crazy-smart, so I knew she could grasp this distinction. She grasped it alright–but she didn’t like it. I asked her if having a particular toy at a particular moment was really a strong need of hers. Reluctantly, she said no. I told her that because BabyGirl has control issues wants to take over the world, starting with our family is four-years-old and feels very put-upon by this older sister who can do so much more than she can, something like getting a much sought-after toy is a Really Big Deal to her, like a need. And sometimes, she just needs to feel like she can make things happen. We also talked about BabyGirl’s tendency to be generally combative with Mini-Me, and for the 99 millionth time, I reminded MM of how ignoring BG enrages her, but eventually serves the purpose of defusing the situation.

MM recalled how much it bothered BG to be ignored and how effective a strategy that was. The recollection almost brought a smile to her face. Almost. She was too invested in her angst to actually smile. I reminded her of how much power she has to control the situation with BG. “Don’t swing at everything that’s pitched,” is a common saying around our house.

Fast forward twelve hours later, and the three of us are at the grocery store. It’s BG’s favorite store because they have little carts perfect for someone her size. So she’s pushing the cart, and I’m reminding her to be careful, and while she steers clear of strangers, somehow MM has become a giant magnet. After the second near-miss, I threaten to take the cart away. BG reigns herself in, but as I’m watching them, I notice that MM is doing nothing to prevent collision. Even when BG is not purposefully gunning for her (she is after all, four-years-old, and not quite a licensed, defensive driver), it seems that MM and the cart are destined to meet.

So it was inevitable that before we leave the store, the cart and MM meet. Now, I watched the whole thing happen, and MM yelled for her sister to “Slow down! Watch out! You’re going to hit me!”…but she never stepped out of the path of the oncoming cart.

Drama.

Back at the car, I think about the cart incident and how it relates to our conversation from the morning. “A teachable moment!” (I’m ashamed to admit I actually thought those words, but I did). So as we’re buckling up, I share my brilliant analogy with MM. As with the cart, most situations with BG can be handled by MM taking charge of the situation–controlling her own actions instead of trying to cajole or berate her sister into Doing the Right Thing. Of course, BG has to face consequences (she’s lost her cart license, plus a fine, and points) , but MM needs to learn to simply step out the way of the conflict sometimes.

“You know what I mean?”

“Um, Mom? I wasn’t thinking about that stuff from this morning.”

Right.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 8th, 2008 at 10:08 pm and is filed under Books and Writers, It's...Whatever., Mama-hood, My Last Nerve, Offspring. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.