Due to technical difficulties, this edition of the Sunday Night Confession is being published on Monday night. We will resume with our regularly unscheduled and totally random programming tomorrow.
I just read (ok, perused) an article by Dr. Michele Borba on the Today Moms website about tips for “helping stressed moms chill out.” I didn’t have time to watch the video.
I have been struggling with this whole concept of stress management a lot lately. This is not news. I know you know this.
And, when I’m stressed, I snap at the boys more frequently. I yell more often. I get annoyed and grumpy because I am preoccupied and mentally caught up in other things. Things I can’t change. Things that already happened or things I am anticipating will happen. So working 55+ hours a week translates into even more lost time with the family because I find myself being short with the kids.
And on the weekends, I’m short with the kids because I’m exhausted from the work week and feeling guilty for not being around that much–and feeling bad about all the things I’m guessing I missed out on.
How is that for a cycle?
Well, Saturday morning, Little L unintentionally taught me a lesson. A big one.
Big F and Middle D were fighting about something, who the heck knows what it was at this point. They didn’t even know what they were fighting about while they were fighting. And they were just poking at each other, saying mean things, whining and just about driving me up the wall. I was hanging out on the sofa with them, trying my best to have a nice Saturday morning. Working very hard at being relaxed and present in the moment. Little L was sitting next to me, playing Star Wars on his DS. Or so I thought. Oh no, he was actually recording me. Catching me in all my Tense Mom glory.
When Little L played the recording back and my harsh, hard-edged voice filled the room I was astonished. And ashamed. I sounded like a Mean Mom–not at all like the mom I want and strive to be. Big F glanced at me nervously waiting for my reaction.
What could I do? I laughed. I laughed at how ridiculous I sounded. I laughed to defuse the situation. I laughed because I was embarrassed.
And then Little L played my little speech with special effects: Chipmunk voices and slow motion. Soon, we were all cracking up. My husband, who came in late but got to hear the end result, seemed to get the biggest kick of all out of it. He was probably relieved I could hear for myself just how I sounded. Mean. And stressed. And not very fun to be around.
Here it is for you to witness. My shame.
I’m sharing it with you because it was a wake up call. Something has gotta give. I do not want my guys to grow up and remember their mom as a stressed out harpy who was always fussing at them.
According to Dr. Borba I need to take a time out, learn deep breathing techniques, exercise, and have a date night. All good suggestions that I can’t argue with.
I’m going to add one more: Listen. Really listen to myself, my tone of voice, my words. Then, if I don’t like what I hear, stop and start over. How is that for ground-breaking?
I can’t raise the boys to be considerate, good and kind if I’m not.
Maybe I should have Little L follow me around with the DS at work, too.
