“I feel like you don’t want me. And that you don’t love me anymore”. This is what my six-year-old daughter said to me one afternoon after a particularly rough day out.
Candidly, I had been shouting a lot; my patience running thin after what should’ve been a fun day at the fair turned into a disastrous scene of two screaming and crying kids and a frazzled me, dragging them away from the crowd to find a quiet spot to calm them. On the way home, as I ran through the morning’s events in my head, I thought about all the ways I could’ve avoided the meltdown, and hated myself a little for all the “wrong” decisions I made. I may have voiced this self-hate too loudly to my husband that afternoon, because I soon heard my four-year-old son state, “you’re a terrible mom, you’re a meany”. My heart broke so many times that night, and I cried as I worked through the night’s routine of dinner, laundry, and school prep once they had gone to bed.
I’m doing my best, I thought. It just felt like my best wasn’t good enough that day.
The Saturday morning started off as any other morning. We were moving a little slower than usual and were heading to a local fair I had been looking forward to for a few weeks with some friends. We headed out on the short drive, and as we got out of the car, the whining already started because my daughter felt cold in her shorts and wanted pants, and my son didn’t think the parking lot looked like a fair. I took a short breath and hurried them along. We had fun – initially. They spun wheels, got prizes, played games, got candy – some of which they ate, some of which they put in their goody bag for later – I was proud of them for this self-control.
We moved on to the face painting, where my kids got little cat and dog faces – we took photos, and they looked adorable. Next was the bounce houses, which they ran back and forth in between, having the best time. It was when it was time to get lunch that it all started breaking down. They refused to leave the bounce house, running around and jumping back in as I stopped them. “One more time, please?” they pleaded. It was never one more time. I finally got my daughter to stop and get her shoes back on, while my son continued to run around. He kicked and screamed as I tried to get his shoes on, and I could feel my patience running thin. We finally agreed to the final “one more time”, after which he came to me and was ready for his shoes. How has parenting become such a negotiation? I thought.
Previously, in a similar situation when I was asking my kids to stop running around and they weren’t listening, an older bystander commented; ‘In my day, when parents spoke, kids listened”. Well, old friend – I know I am not alone when I say, these days, they don’t listen. There’s negotiating, there’s understanding their big little feelings, there’s gentle parenting, there’s an incredible amount of patience and self-resilience needed – and sometimes, I don’t have that in me. The man was right, though – in my childhood days, I listened to my parents. I wouldn’t dare not listen. They were my parents. They were the authority.
We finally managed to leave the bounce house and headed to get lunch. You had to pre-purchase tickets from a booth where they were also giving away donuts. “Do you want a donut?” I asked them both. They excitedly nodded. The lady opened the box, and the donuts were huge. “Let’s choose one we can share”. I said, not wanting them to get full on donuts before we got our burgers.
This is the scenario that I have played over and over again in my head. My son started melting down because he didn’t want to share a donut, my daughter wanted a different donut anyway. They kept trying to touch all the donuts, and I was trying to hold them back. I repeated that we had to get one to share, and I’d like them to decide together which we would get. More whining and then crying and snot down the nose started. The lady at the booth shrugged and told me it was okay if they took one each, but I felt like I was bound by my principles now. “Fine, let’s forget the donuts if you can’t decide”, I said. “Let’s go get the burgers”.
My kids hate to eat – unless it’s a snack or a sugary treat. Between hearing that they weren’t going to get a donut AND now had to eat proper food, they just broke down and melted into a larger mess of tears and snot. I dragged them away, feeling so flustered myself. I could feel eyes on me as I had my son in my arms, trying to run back to the donuts, and my daughter crying as she followed behind. I took them aside and tried to reason with them.
I should’ve just let them have a donut each, I thought. Actually, I shouldn’t have even mentioned the donuts. I’m kicking myself at this point, thinking about the mistakes I had made in that short 30 minutes. I also knew they were hungry and sugared up, which is where I felt so guilty for letting them get to this way. Ironically, I had snacks in my bag – we just didn’t get to them, and at this point, no amount of granola bars, chips, and fruit would get us passed this. I finally managed to calm them down, and we all came to a conclusion – they would share a donut, and my daughter would get the one that my son wanted. Perhaps I should’ve stood my ground on “no donuts”, but it felt like a little win to get to this point. We walked back to the donut booth, and as we opened the box, the chosen donut had gone.
Bring on meltdown #2. They refused to choose another one, and I felt like I was back to square one. I felt broken. I found our friends at the burger truck and apologized as I dragged both kids to the car and took them home. There was no way I was attempting to have lunch with them at this point. I felt defeated, embarrassed, and totally out of control.
As I drove home, I played the scenario out in my head again and again. Should I have just given them a donut each, even when I said we had to share initially? Perhaps. I know it’s sometimes easier to give in to make the pleading stop, especially when we’re out. But having done this previously, I know that’s why I’m in the situation I’m in. The inconsistency around when the whining and pleading works and doesn’t. My husband and I do try to stand by our decisions, but sometimes, it just doesn’t feel like it’s worth it.
When we got home, I sat the kids down for some pasta and meatballs for lunch. The sorrow over the donut continued, and I was losing all patience. Our friends who we were at the fair with came over shortly after to continue the play date. The kids played nicely while the parents shared similar stories of parenting struggles and raising children. I know it’s not just me, but I felt like a real failure in the mothering department that day. As we got the kids through dinner and bath, the lack of listening continued, which is where my shouting, followed by my daughter’s comment, came in; “I feel like you don’t want me. And that you don’t love me anymore”.
I paused a little before I responded to her, perhaps secretly punishing her for her behavior by not saying anything straight away. I’m not proud of that, but I was struggling internally with what she had said and my feelings of mom failure throughout the day. I looked at her and told her I never want her to think that. “Of course, I want you. I made you, and you are mine forever. I love you with all of my heart, always and forever, always know that”, I replied. I gave her a big hug and told her that I just needed her to listen, and we all had a hard day that day.
There’s no parenting handbook; you just do what you can, with the love that you have.
That night, we read books, snuggled in bed, and I gave both kids a big hug. I was going on a work trip the following day, but my heart felt heavy. While it was a tough day, I actually didn’t want to leave them, especially as it was a Sunday. The previous Sunday was Mother’s Day, and we had had such an amazing day. They are my world, my heart, and my soul, and as they both embark on their school years, I am quickly realizing how fast the years really do go. It won’t be long before they don’t want to spend weekends going to fairs and pet adoption events with me (these are our favorite OC weekend activities). They’ll have their own activities and friends they’d rather be with.
As I look back on the day, I feel sad that it was a day we missed building good memories and enjoying the time together. I know we’ll get more of them, they’re not off to college just yet! I have to take it as a lesson and remember that it doesn’t mean I’m a “terrible mom” or a “meany” like my four-year-old may think. I’m trying my best and doing what I can to give my two kiddos the best life I can.
