Allow me to back up a moment. Because even though my head feels a bit pound-y and my conscience feels a bit bruise-y, I wouldn't have to share ANY of that with you. I have enough highlight-reel-worthy material just from this morning that I could post instead:
- Rick headed off to work (in good time!) with a dozen home-baked banana muffins for his co-worker's birthday. (See how real we are? Microwave is being replaced...)
- Maisy's friend was over this morning, and she ate waffles with my kiddos and made it to school on time (presumably!).
- I hand-delivered 1/3 of a decorated half-sheet baby shower cake, four paper bags full of gifts, and a Closet of Hope bag full of diapers to the home of one of my adult ESL students who had her fourth baby (first girl!) the day before her scheduled in-class baby shower. I got to hold this tiny, precious, beautiful baby girl. Oh the sweetness.
- I dropped off a pan full of seriously delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies for Maisy's parent-teacher conferences.
- Isaac has learned to go downstairs backwards on his own, and I snapped a funny picture of him on his tummy this morning, scooching backwards, perpendicular to the stairs, unable to figure out why he wasn't going down.
All of these things are true. They are good stuff. They would be perfectly acceptable Facebook posts that could get "liked" and "hearted" and commented upon.
But it wouldn't be the whole story, would it? They would be funny, sweet, cute, or impressive posts to share, and they might make me feel proud, or warm and fuzzy, or whatever the case may be. However, there's an Alexander side to this morning.
There's the frantic rush out the door after a last-minute poopy diaper. There I am, raising my voice at Maisy because when she was supposed to be putting her shoes and coat on, she went searching for her new "tie shoes" to wear instead. There's Maisy, her friend, Tucker, Isaac, and I making it across the street just as the first bell rings. There's Maisy and her friend rushing down the sidewalk.
There I am again, calling to Maisy that her mittens flew off. There's Maisy frantically running back for her mittens, crying because she thought she'd lost her hat. Panicking, not because she was in true danger of being late, but because she felt my frantic mood and owned it herself.
And then, there's the icing on the Ugly Morning cake: There I am, holding Isaac, telling my 3-year old to stay in the driveway, re-crossing the street, and calming Maisy. There I am, watching Tucker waiting patiently in the driveway as I knew he would do, but seeing the last-minute-drop-off cars slowing as they see this 3-year-old boy standing alone in a driveway.
I crossed the street to him again, not 30 seconds later. Maisy and her friend made their way (suddenly unhurried) down the sidewalk, hopefully to make it to their desks before the second bell. Tucker was waiting. He was obedient. He was unconcerned. Just as I'd expected. But my heart sunk because I knew I should have dragged him with me when I crossed to calm Maisy. I could only imagine the disapproval of the parents in the slowing cars, because I felt my own disapproval. It was fine. I wouldn't do it again, but he was perfectly fine. Maisy was fine. We were all fine.
Here's the thing, though. I had all of this highlight-reel-worthy material going on this morning, but it didn't matter. My raised voice was stuck in my throat and ears. The image of my 3-year-old waiting on the other side of the street is seared into my mind. My mistakes weigh so much heavier than my highlight reel! The mistakes could so easily go un-shared. No one would know that I felt like Alexander this morning, stuck in the middle seat and whining.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
It was also a great day. A good friend watched my little boys while I went to my ESL student's home. I got to see my student open present after generous present from students and tutors. I got to receive her thanks on behalf of the whole class. I got to hold her amazing, sweet, angel-baby.
My friend assured me that I didn't need to rush, so I listened to her, and I typed this up after my visit. Peacefully. Without interruptions. (Thank you, Friend!)
Here's my point, dedicated to all of you out there who are Doing The Best You Can and Learning As You Go:
It would be so easy to judge. So easy to judge yourself when you see the mom with the cute kids and the cute boots (I wore my cute boots today.) Baking banana muffins. And homemade chocolate chip cookies. Delivering baby gifts to her student. So easy to judge yourself and find yourself guilty of Being Less Than. You're not. That's not the whole story.
It would be so easy to judge. So easy to judge the mom with the messy ponytail frantically bringing a passel of kids across the street, calling out to her tiny kindergartner with too much to carry, leaving her 3-year-old alone in a driveway across the street. It would be so easy to judge that mom as Being Less Than. I'm not. That's not my whole story.
Maybe you are having a beautiful, highlight-reel-worthy day. Maybe you - like Alexander - are having a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." Or maybe you, like I am, are having both days wrapped up in one. Whatever the case may be, I want you to remember this:
"Some days are like that. Even in Australia."
That's A+ Parenting Today.
What a day!
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