(Hope you have some time, this is a long one.)

Before I had children I had grand ideals about the kind of mother I wanted to be for my children.

First of all I wanted a BIG family. I was an only child and I was lonely. All I ever really wanted was brothers and sisters. I would make sure my children had what I didn’t.

Second I would teach my children. I would take every chance I had to teach them something. I didn’t plan to homeschool them. I had no interest in that. But I knew I wanted to teach them things like their letters and numbers, how to cook and clean, how to read a map and follow directions. I knew I wanted to read to them and share my favorite childhood and young adult novels.

Most of all, I wanted to be patient. I wouldn’t yell at my kids. I would reason with them. We would talk about their behavior as well as their wants and needs and all the things that interested them most. I didn’t plan to be a friend to my children. Even pre-kids, I understood that it was more important to be a parent to them.

Most of all I wanted to be able to keep enough perspective to laugh instead of exploding or melting down over the difficult moments.

When I thought about having children, I didn’t dwell too much on the baby, toddler and preschool years. I had no experience with children that age and to be frank those were the stages that scared me.

I have to say that the past nearly six years (my oldest turns 6 in ten days!) have been the hardest of my life. They have also been the most significant. The most tiring. The most exasperating and sometimes devastating. They have also been filled with the most love and awe and fear. And I have learned more about myself in the last 6 years then the entire 26 years before that combined.

Most of my ideals have been shattered or abandoned. I have learned that I am not a patient person. It’s a hell of a lot easier to be patient when you are a teenager tutoring 1st graders or 7th grader through 9th graders., or a twenty-something handling disgruntled tourists and patrons then it is when you are dealing with an irrational 2 year old or sulky 5 year old or a whining, screaming 4 year old.

The realization that I didn’t have what it takes to embrace all those teaching moments has been one of the hardest things to take. After all, I wanted to be a teacher. I went to college and got a B.A. in education. How could I not implement all that I knew and learned about child development and teaching with my own children?

It’s not been all bad. Don’t get me wrong. We have moments of brilliance around here. Moments when everything just falls into place. The oldest has been teaching himself to read with a little guidance from us and I’ve been teaching him about maps and directions. But these moments aren’t like I always hoped for. They don’t happen as often as I always dreamed of.

Probably my biggest revelation is that the big family I wanted would mean that on any given day, somebody was probably going to have a bad day. I’m talking about behavior and attitude. It’s so rare that all three children manage to have a good day on the same day. I’ve only recently come to understand this and its been epiphanic. Since I finally understood this basic reality, its made a difference in my perception, allowing me to stop taking their behavior so personally. Their behavior really isn’t always about me and my parenting skills. Sometimes, it’s just about them.

Nobody told me any of that. Nobody clued me in to the realities of raising more than two children. To be honest, I probably would not have listened if they had. Once I get an idea about something, there is little that can deter me. But I never realized the logistics involved. I was an only child. I didn’t have step-brothers until we were teenagers and then only on the weekends. How could I possibly know? It was just me and my mother during the week. And I was the kind of kid that followed the rules and respected authority (my mother’s, grandparents’, and teachers’ anyway; my dad and I had a whole other dynamic). The worst trouble I got in involved the revocation of my library card and confiscation of all my books. There just wasn’t anything else my mom could take away from me.

Yeah. I was that pathetic.

I. Just. Didn’t. Have. A. Clue.

And then I went and had three children spaced 19 months apart. Can we all say it together? DUMB. AaaaSS.

When my youngest was an infant, I was still deep in my grief over my dad’s death. My oldest had just turned three and really entered a difficult stage. Snoring Daddy and I were at a loss as to how to deal with his behavior issues, and he had such a temper–still does. By the time he turned four–and finally began to stabilize–the middle child was in her twos and working on mastering the whine while the youngest was just getting mobile and we were realizing we might be in serious trouble.

Ever since Demolition Toddler became mobile it’s been a daily struggle. Even though the older two are mostly well behaved, we still have sulking and bad attitudes along with fighting and screaming to deal with. Which in itself I can handle because now grouding them actually means something. It’s just that discipline in our household continues to be complicated by the youngest’s constant testing of limits and his even more constant need to explore and discover everything around him, which gets dangerous when he is capable of defeating every child-proofing mechanism we bring into this house.

Anyway, all that is not really the point I was pursuing when I began. My point is that I haven’t been the mother I always wanted to be. I’ve been overwhelmed by my emotions through these early years. I’ve often felt like I was treading water, biding my time until the waters weren’t as rough so I could finally swim towards shore where I could touch bottom and catch my breath. This week, I’ve begun to notice a change in the current. The water hasn’t been as choppy–or perhaps, I’ve finally built up the endurance to handle it.

Last Monday, I took all three children with me to Oklahoma City for the oldest’s dentist appointment. I usually avoid taking all three children anywhere alone but Snoring Daddy has been busy working to beat deadlines and so I sucked it up and just did it. It wasn’t so bad. The only hard part during the appointment was when we went back to the exam room and Demo-Toddler wanted to run around pushing buttons and grabbing tubes and flipping switches and I refused to let him run around. So he squirmed and squealed while I held him on my lap or between my legs the whole time.

When we were finished we went to the mall. BY OURSELVES. This was a milestone all on its own for me. We ate in the food court and Demo-Toddler actually stayed at the table through most of lunch before going from table to table collecting all of the display cards and gathering them on our table. And it was okay. Other diners laughed and commented on how cute he was. Of course, it helps that they were right, you know.

Then we went to the play area and the children ran around and had fun until the girl jumped off one of the toys and twisted her ankle. At this point, I would have been headed towards meltdown mode on my own. Not this time. This time, I rolled with it. I had to carry her out of the mall into the parking lot to the van and hang onto my youngest–no easy task. She only weighs around 35 lbs but it was carrying her one armed while hanging onto the youngest, who weighs just as much and is twice as strong, all while Princess-Whines-A-Lot wailed and cried, that was difficult. (It’s not that I didn’t have any empathy for her but with her, you never can tell how much it really hurts, because everything is a catastrophy.) But I managed and I my nerves held strong.

That day, I began to see the shoreline. The oldest behaved beautifully while we were out, the girl did too–it wasn’t her fault she got hurt, after all–and the youngest had a great day in public (so rare!).

It gave me the courage to take them to the store by myself a few days later–but first we went to the park and burger king and played and ate and played some more. By the time we went to the store, the youngest had burned off enough energy that he actually stayed in the seat in the shopping car–always a power struggle. I only had to scold the older two for doing annoying stuff a few times and several people commented on how well behaved my children were–A MOTHER’S DREAM COME TRUE!!!

Let us have a moment of silence to savor the satisfaction and glory of it all……………… thank you.

Not only did I see the shoreline, I’m pretty sure it was the promiseland. Amen and hallelujah.

It was like that most of the week. We had some attitude problems with the oldest throughout the week, but I understand, because he’s bored and it’s an ongoing Summer problem. He’s ready for school to start. The middle child’s whining and crying has been escalating and we had a long talk about practicing not crying or whining about every little thing so that we can go to school this year and not cry over every little thing. So it wasn’t as if the children were angels all week. And yet, things just seemed better.

I think some of it has to do with the children getting older. I don’t feel so much at a loss in dealing with all three of them. I can actually reason with the older two and talk about their behavior and see some comprehension on their part now. That is so encouraging. Besides their progress, I’m making some. Eating healthier is helping. I don’t feel yucky and lethargic all the time like I did when we were eating all the junk through last Spring and the move this Summer. My energy is up and that makes a big difference.

Besides that, I’ve started taking St. John’s Wort. I’ve noticed a change in how I respond to my usual stress-triggers. It’s easier to laugh about it all. My nerves aren’t frayed to the breaking point. My mood is up and seems more stable.

I’ve missed that feeling. A couple of years ago, I tried sarafem (prozac) for a few months and hated the side effects. I swear I gained 20-30 pounds in those two months alone. I didn’t care about anything. So I quit. I’d rather struggle with hormones, mood swings, and depression than not care at all. With the St. John’s Wort there appear to be no side effects and I still care. It’s important to care.

This all sets the stage for the ultimate test. Yesterday, we all went to Tulsa for the afternoon and evening.

We ate dinner at a place that had aquariums throughout the restaurant, so Demolition-Boy stayed distracted enough that he didn’t cause any scenes and for once we didn’t have to take him to the van until AFTER we finished dinner.

Then we went to the mall. This is where I nearly lost my newfound zen. The children and I walked all over the mall and department stores while Snoring Daddy looked at new laptops and tried to find new shorts. This was a true exercise in patience and I was losing mine and so were the children. The youngest did not want to be in the stroller anymore, the girl kept getting run over by the stroller because she kept walking in front of it and the oldest did NOT want to be there at all. He wanted to do something fun.

Me? My ankle was hurting from the fall I took last week and I wasn’t having any fun either. The malls were crowded with back-to-school shoppers taking advantage of the tax-free weekend. And Snoring Daddy didn’t understand why I was getting irritated. I told him he didn’t understand what it was like to deal with three impatient young children who were bored while we had to wait around for him to finish what he was doing. He claimed that he did to, he’s dealt with them plenty of times. I disagreed. He has never had to wait around for me while he minded the children the way I always have to wait on him.

Then Snoring Daddy made the fatal mistake of entering the candy store. After making his purchase, the youngest began to scream and scream and scream for candy.

It was past time to go.

But first, we went into Sears. I had tried several shoe stores, looking for new walking shoes for me but they were too crowded, so we decided to look in Sears. As we approached the shoe section, Demo-boy began to scream for more candy, which I told him he was not getting any more of because of his behavior. The girl had been riding on her daddy’s shoulders but when I started looking at shoes, Snoring Daddy had to take her down so he could man the stroller and screaming Demo-Toddler. The girl began to whine and cry because she was tired and didn’t want to walk, meanwhile the oldest had been riding in the other seat of the double stroller. As I walked away from the meltdown in progress to try to find some shoes, Snoring Daddy told the boy to get up so that the girl could sit for a while. The boy did not want to get up.

Here’s how it went down.

Demo-boy is screaming and crying “CANDY! CANDY! CANDY! I WANT MY CANDY!!!!!!”.

The Girl is whining and crying in her special, nails-on-a-chalk-board pitch.

The boy booms in his grumpiest, most ill-mannered yell, “I. DON’T. LIKE. WALKING.”

I was a good twenty feet away from them and picking up my pace. I turned down an aisle and lost it. For once, I wasn’t on the verge of crying in the face of a meltdown. I laughed. I couldn’t stop laughing. I peeked around the corner and made eye contact with my husband and he looked like an animal trapped in headlights.

I ducked away again and kept laughing. I think if I had been able to look into a mirror I would have finally caught a glimpse of the kind of mom I always wanted to be.

A few minutes later, after giving up on the shoes, we left and my husband told me that as he stood with the children melting down around him, (his exact words were “they were all going at once, it was like a siren”) there was one father holding a child who looked at Snoring Daddy like he was the worst parent in the world, then he saw another father send him a sympathetic smile. The second father had three children with him about five years older than all of ours. His was a look from a man who had been where we were and got it. The first father? Clearly had only one child and not a clue that sometimes, it doesn’t matter how good a parent you are, when you have three or more a meltdown is just a spiral away.

Meanwhile, we have four weeks until Disney World. Yeah. We are crazy. But at least we will make plenty of memories to write about.

P.S. If you finished this you deserve a prize. I said you DESERVE a prize. Not that I have one for you.

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