I believe that I am a good mother. I base that belief on the fact that I always strive to do what is good and right for my children. I have their best interest at heart and I love them with every fiber of my being. That said, there are times I fail my children. I don’t always feed them the healthiest food. Sometimes, I yell too much or say “no” too much. Sometimes, I don’t give them all of the attention that they need.
I’m not perfect, that’s for sure.
But when I make a mistake, I apologize. When I’ve not done right by them, I let them know that I’ve failed them and I do what I can to make things right.
Today, I failed my children in a monumental way.
It’s been a rough week filled with stress, deadlines and PMS. I feel overwhelmed with all that needs to be done and all of the people depending on me. I’ve asked for help, but no one has taken me seriously.
Today, I succumbed to the stress and frustration that has been building up inside of me.
I didn’t physically hurt my child. I never would do that. But I broke his heart.
I screamed. I hit the wall. I slammed a door.
I’m ashamed and heartbroken that my children had to witness that kind of behavior from their mother.
When I apologized to my son, he broke down and cried. And this boy NEVER cries.
“I’ve never seen you act like that. You’ve never talked to me that way, Mom.”
I hugged him and I apologized over and over again. I can’t tell you how low I felt in that moment. I can’t begin to express what a failure as a mother, as a person I felt like. All I could think was “I can’t ever take this back. He’ll always remember this day and what I’ve done here.”
I had a very honest and candid conversation with all 3 of my children. I have apologized over and over again and my children have forgiven me. I am truly grateful for their forgiveness, but there is a heaviness that remains in my heart that I was capable of such ugliness towards one of my children.
Category Archives: Parenthood
I Blinked and This Happened
Today The Boy Who Made Me a Mother took his senior portraits.
I was feeling emotional about it, but managed to make it through my morning without shedding a single tear.
He decided he wanted a haircut 2 hours before his appointment. I dropped everything I was doing and ran him down to the barber shop. I sat in the chair as he told the woman what kind of cut he wanted. As he sat there, I admired him from the torn up bench in the waiting area. “What a handsome young man he’s turned out to be!” ! I thought.
I allowed my eyes to wonder around the room a bit and that is when I noticed the little boy. He couldn’t have been more than a year old. His mother sat in the chair with him and held him tightly as the barber carefully cut his hair. He was fussing and his mom was doing everything in her power to help him cooperate.
And that, my friends, is when I lost it.
I started to cry, right there in that old, dirty little barber shop.
Because I remember holding my first baby while he got his hair cut. I remember telling him it was going to be okay while his daddy jumped up and down to try to distract him from the clippers.
I remember those moments like they were yesterday. But they weren’t yesterday. They were years and years ago. And now, that boy I once held in my arms is facing adulthood in just a few short months.
Today, while that mother held her son tightly, I sat across the room, ever aware of how much it will pain her heart to release the tight grip and let that baby go.
My Daughter Has a Boyfriend and He’s Famous
She fell in love with his music when she was just four years old. She would listen to his CD with her dad while they drove around town running errands. They’d walk in the door from a long day and she’d be singing his songs.
Oh, how she sings his songs.
She fell in (4 year old) love with The Man the first time she saw him on TV.
“That’s Keith Urban?” She asked, with her eyes wide open.
“Yes. It is.” I responded. “Isn’t he handsome?”
She giggled. “I want to marry him!”
She would talk about him daily. She would draw pictures of him and for him. She would write letters to him.
“I want to be your girlfriend, Keith Urbin.” She’d scrawl across the blank white paper.
The day she found out he was married, she was devastated. “You’re lying!” She shouted. “He’s MY husband!”
Once she accepted this reality, she started writing letters to his wife, “Micole.” They were sweet and said things like “I like the way your husband sings.”
But she never stopped loving Micole’s husband. She never stopped singing his songs. She never stopped writing him letters and drawing him pictures.
One night while we were sitting on the sofa watching a Keith Urban special, she asked me to pause the TV. “Mom, if he has a show by our house, will you take me there to see him?”
“Of course I will, love.”
“And after the show, will you take me to meet him? I just want to meet him so bad.”
I explained that it probably wouldn’t be possible to meet him after the show, but you never know! Maybe?
“Oh, I hope I can’t meet him!” She said, with her hands folded as if she was saying a prayer.
*******
“Babe, doesn’t that look like Keith Urban?” My husband asked as we were sitting in the airport waiting to board a flight from Chicago to LAX.
“That IS Keith Urban!” I gasped.
Gabby was sitting next to me. “Gabby! That’s Keith Urban sitting over there.” I said, as I pointed. (Pointing is rude! I know! But I had to show her!)
She wants to meet Keith Urban and there he is sitting just a few feet away from her.
I wanted to go say hello to him, to introduce my daughter– his biggest, littlest fan- to him. I wanted to watch as she met the man of her dreams right there in the airport terminal.
But he was on the phone. And I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt his phone call. So, I sat and waited for the right time.
The right time never came. An American Airlines employee came over to him and walked him over so he could board the plane first. I was bummed for my daughter and quite possibly for myself because there’s nothing more beautiful as a parent than watching your child’s dreams come true.
“Mommy, where did Keith Urban go?” Gabby asked when she noticed his seat was empty.
I explained to her that he had already boarded the plane. I told her that maybe we could say hello to him when we got on the plane, if he wasn’t busy.
“No, Mommy!” She whined. “I was just kidding about loving him! I don’t love him and I don’t want to meet him!”
“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, but I think it would be so wonderful if you said hello to him. You’ve always said you wanted to meet him.”
She got very quiet as we stood in line.
“Mommy? My heart is beating so fast. Is yours beating fast too?”
I about died right there. HER HEART WAS BEATING FAST.
”
Sweetie, it’s okay to be nervous and it’s okay if you don’t want to say hello. I don’t want you to be nervous.”
“I do want to say hi to him, Mommy. I’m just so nervous.”
When we stepped onto the plane, I noticed Keith was sitting in the first row. He wasn’t on the phone, so I politely made my move.
“Hello, I am sorry to bother you, but my daughter adores you and she would love to say hi to you.”
He smiled at her and said “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Gabby.” She answered.
“She just loves your music.” I said.
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite song, Gabby?” He asked.
She was silent and I’m pretty sure it was because her little heart was pounding so hard.
“I Wanna Kiss a Girl.” I said.
“I wanna kiss a girl…” He sang.
She smiled.
I thanked him and we walked to our seats.
Shortly after takeoff, Gabby asked if she could write Keith a note. “I just want to tell him thank you for saying hi to me.” I told her she could write the note, but that I didn’t think we would be able to give it to him. However, I had a fabulous conversation with the flight attendant while waiting to use the restroom. I told her all about Gabby’s encounter with Keith and how much she loved him. I mentioned the note she wanted to write for him.
“Have her write that note and I’ll take her up front to give it to him.”
I practically ran back to my seat to give Gabby the good news.
She wrote her note (I helped make sure she spelled all of the words correctly, but they were definitely her words.)
Dear Keith Urban,
Thank you for letting me listen to your songs. I like you.
Love,
Gabby
The flight attendant walked over, took Gabby by the hand and said “let’s go give that to Keith Urban!”
I sat in my seat and watched as my daughter made her way to the front of the plane. I watched as Keith leaned over and accepted the note she had written. I watched as she smiled and spoke to him. My heart felt like it was going to burst open. IT WAS THE SWEETEST MOMENT. You just have to believe me. It truly was.
When the flight attendant returned my daughter to me, I asked her to replay what had just happened. She told me what Keith had said to Gabby and what Gabby had said to Keith. The absolute funniest moment was when Keith asked her if she wanted his autograph.
“No thank you.” She answered sweetly.
We both agreed she had no idea what an “autograph” was. So, the flight attendant took the notebook to Keith so he could sign it.
This is what she brought back.
When we read it together, my daughter smiled. Then started to giggle. That giggle turned into laughter.
“OH MY GOSH!” She said while putting her hands over his face. “Why did he call me HIS GIRLFRIEND? He must really love me or something!”
I cried. I did. Because it was the most precious thing to witness.
She stared at that paper for the entire flight. Sometimes giggling. Sometimes asking me questions about it. Sometimes doubting that he was being sincere.
“I think he was just faking it. I don’t think he really wants me to be his girlfriend.”
My husband and I can’t stop talking about how great Keith Urban was to Gabby. It was a late night flight, he had just done a show. It would have been understandable if he didn’t want to be bothered. But he was gracious to our daughter. He was genuinely kind. A true class act, that man.
I’m buying a frame for that note tomorrow and hanging it on her wall. I never want her to forget the day Keith Urban sang to her and called her his girlfriend.
(Happy, but SO VERY TIRED. Traveling is hard, y’all.)
The Egg Cracks- My Daughter on How Babies Are Made and Also, Born.
My daughter is obviously an expert on how babies are born.
Last night, she found her ultrasound photos. This triggered an hour long discussion about babies and “you-know-is’s” and also, pachinas.
I had to share.
You’re welcome.
Her First (Last?) Sleepover
I am so angry today.
Angry at myself.
Angry at another mother.
Yesterday, I got a call from a mom of one of G’s friends from kindergarten. I know this woman, we’ve had play dates together. Our girls have been friends since the first day of school. She asked if G could come over to her house after school to color eggs. After that, they’d go to the movies and to the park. I told her that I’d meet her after school. If G wanted to go, then of course she could go.
When I asked G if she wanted to go, her face lit up and she said a very high pitch “YYYYEESSS!”
I gave the mom $10 for her ticket and a snack and told her to call me when they were home so I could come get my daughter. 5pm I got a phone call.
“Can G spend the night?”
My heart sank. The only people my daughter has spent the night with are my mother and my sister.
“Does she want to?” I asked.
“Well, here, I’ll let you talk to her.”
I asked her if she wanted to. I could hear the excitement in her voice. “Yes, Mommy! Please?”
I didn’t want to say yes. “She’s only 5.” I thought to myself. “And, yes, I know the mom, but I don’t really know the mom.”
My gut was saying “No no no no.” But my daughter was saying “please please please.”
I thought back to when I was little. I was never allowed to spend the night anywhere, unless they were people from the church or my dad could “verify” that they were Christians. I thought about all of the times I was shunned the day after a sleep over. “You can’t sit with us. You weren’t allowed to come to my sleepover.” (True story) I never want my daughter to feel like an outcast the way that I did. I never want hre to miss out on fun times with her friends because of her over-protective mother.
But she’s only five.
Adding to my concern was the fact that the mom is a single mom who lives with her father. I don’t know the father. I only know what she tells me about him. And he sounds really wonderful. But I don’t know him.
All of these things went through my head. And yet, I told her yes, my daughter could spend the night. I told her I would bring her stuff right over.
My husband drove with me over to her house to take G her things.
“Are you okay with this?” I asked him.
“No. I’m not.”
“I’m not either. But she really wants to. She’s so excited and this is the first time she’s been invited to spend the night with a friend. I don’t want to ruin her fun.”
We talked about it. We decided if we continued to feel uneasy, we’d call the mom and make up a lie. I even went so far as to come up with the lie right there in the car. “Something came up. We need to leave early in the morning. We have to come get her.”
I should have just said no.
When we pulled up to the house, G and her friend came running out. They were covered in pink eye shadow, lip gloss and glitter. “Mommy! Did you bring my blankie?” She squeeled.
I pulled her to the side. “You sure you want to stay?”
“Yes!” she repeated as she jumped up and down. Her friend came up, took her by the hand and said “Let’s go finish playing house!” She said.
“Bye Mom!” G shouted as she skipped away with her overnight bag.
We told the mom she could call us AT ANY TIME if my daughter changed her mind. “You can call me at 3am. I don’t care. I’ll come get her.” I said. She assured me everything was going to be fine. I believed her.
But not really.
Me and my husband went to grab a quick dinner, then headed to Target to get some last minute Easter things. I felt a bit more at ease after I had seen how happy she was, but there was still this little ache in my heart. This little… I don’t know what, telling me that I shouldn’t have let her stay. I kept my phone with me, just in case she called. I even turned the volume all of the way up.
The phone never rang.
Around 9:30 we went to pick up the boys from church. I was happy she hadn’t called, even telling myself it was silly to get so worked up about a sleep over. Around 11pm, I checked my phone, JUST IN CASE.
There was a voice mail.
My heart sank.
Around 10:00, I had received a phone call. From The Grandpa.
“G doesn’t want to stay, I’d be happy to bring her home if you can give me your address.”
How did I miss the call? I have no idea.
I called the mom’s cell. No answer.I called the home number. No answer.
“Why the EFF did the grandpa call?” Tony said.
“That’s a good question.” I responded.
“If the mom left my daughter there with the grandpa, I’m going to be SO PISSED.” Tony said.
My heart sank. Would she have done such a thing? Would she have betrayed my trust like that? She never told me she was going to leave. She never asked me if it was okay if her dad watched my daughter.
We couldn’t get a hold of anyone by phone.
“I’m going to get my daughter.” My husband said.
He jumped in the van and headed over there. I stayed home, just in case the grandpa called back. He never called. But Tony did.
“No one is answering the door. Give me their number again.”
10 minutes later, Tony called. “I have my daughter.” He said. “I practically banged the door down, but I got her.”
I could hear her in the background. She was SOBBING.
“She won’t stop crying.” He said. “And she won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
My heart– it was pounding. I allowed my mind to go there. I hated myself in that moment. Why hadn’t I listened to my gut? Why did I give in? Why was I such a bad mother? WHY WAS THAT WOMAN SUCH A HORRIBLE PERSON TO LEAVE MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT?
He was home within 3 minutes. My daughter was hysterical.
“Please. Take a deep breath. We need to talk.”
She couldn’t calm down. I did everything in my power to help her, but she was so upset. After about 10 minutes, I was able to get her to talk.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did something happen?”
She tried to talk through the tears.
“I was just so scared. I didn’t want to stay there with E’s grandpa. I don’t know him. I was so scared and you didn’t answer the phone and I wanted to come home and…”
She was hysterical again.
“Did he yell at you?” I asked.
“No, Mommy.”
“Did he touch you?” I asked.
“No.” she said.
“No one touched you or did anything mean to you?”
“No. Mommy. I just didn’t want to be there. I was scared when E’s mom left.”
E’s mom left.
I’m angry about that. And my husband is angry about that. We entrusted our daughter into her care, not her father’s.
I’m angry with myself too. I’m angry that my poor judgement could have resulted in disaster for my daughter. We were lucky. Nothing bad happened. I mean, it was awful that she was scared, that she didn’t feel safe, that she felt like we had abandoned her (by not answering the phone the first time they called.) But that was something we were able to talk about, something she was able to understand and to heal quickly from.
I feel so lucky.
But I also feel anger. I’m so angry with that mother. But mostly, I’m angry with myself. For not listening to my gut instinct. For saying “yes” when what I really wanted to say was “no.”
(edited to add: I wanted to make it very clear that the grandfather did nothing wrong. As Marinka pointed out, he called us when G told him she didn’t want to stay. My issue is solely with the mother, for leaving my daughter without asking if we, as her parents, were okay with that.)
It is Very Tempting to Title This Post “Hugs, FTW!”
Every once in a while the sound of my husband getting ready for work early in the morning will wake our daughter up. Usually, she’ll ask him for a drink, or to quiet down and then she’ll crawl back into bed and fall back asleep.
This morning, she woke up at 4:30 am and never went back to sleep.
I knew that this meant REALLY bad news later that afternoon when she came home from school. A Tired My Daughter is a GRUMPY My Daughter.
After I finished picking up all 3 kids from 3 different schools (hate! driving! so! much!) I decided to make a quick trip to Trader Joe’s to get a few things for dinner (and also- pumpkin butter.) This wasn’t very smart parenting. I knew my daughter had been up since 4:30 in the morning. I should have went straight home and put her down for a nap. But, I also knew that if I didn’t go to buy groceries, we’d end up ordering a pizza or some other unhealthy food for dinner. So… to Trader Joe’s we went.
By the time we got home, my daughter was physically and mentally exhausted.
My husband was home from work, so I asked him to take care of her so I could get back to work.
“Please, put her down for a short nap.” I asked.
15 minutes later I hear crying from the kitchen.
“But, daddy! I want to make strawberry juice!”
“No, sweetie. You can’t smash the strawberries to make strawberry juice. Mommy bought strawberry lemonade. Why don’t you drink that?”
“BUT I WANT TO MAKE STRAWBERRY JUUUUUUUICE” she cried, as she ran down the hall towards my bedroom.
She walked up to me and started crying. “daddy won’t let me smash the strawberries to make strawberry juuuuice.”
I was annoyed.
Annoyed that my husband had not put her down for a nap. Annoyed that my daughter was whining over SMASHING STRAWBERRIES. Annoyed that no one seemed to care that I was working.
I took her by the hand (ANNOYED!) walked her over to my husband (ANNOYED!) and asked him to kindly PUT HER DOWN FOR A NAP BECAUSE SHE IS SO TIRED AND I HAVE TO WORK AND PLEASE DO IT NOW. (ANNOYED!)
Oh, The Drama!
She started crying and saying mean things like “I don’t like your face, Daddy!” Completely out of character, for her. She adores her daddy and never talks to him like that.
“You don’t talk to your father that way!” He snapped back at her.
“But I don’t like you with your glasses! They’re ugly!” She cried.
I knew that the things she was saying were completely out of line and unacceptable, he had every right to be upset.
I also knew how exhausted she was.
I got up to intervene.
I pulled my husband aside.
“Be gentle with her.” I said. “She’s very tired.”
He seemed confused. Did I not just hear the way she was talking to him? Did I not think it was inappropriate?
“I know what she was saying wasn’t okay. But I also know she woke up at 4:30 this morning and is a complete mess emotionally. She’s exhausted.”
He couldn’t wrap his mind around what I was saying. In his mind, her behavior was unacceptable and he had every right to scold her.
He picked her up, put her in her bed and walked out.
A few minutes later, I heard angrily flipping around in her bed.
I didn’t like what I heard. She WAS being bratty. What she was doing wasn’t okay. I could have been upset with her. I knew I needed to go into her room and deal with her. But I wasn’t quite sure how I would handle the situation.
I took a deep breath.
I walked into her bedroom.
I laid next to her on her bed. Instead of scolding her, I wrapped my arms tightly around her tired little body. She fought it at first. But then, she melted into my arms and broke down.
“I know, sweetie. You’re so tired. You don’t feel good. It’s okay, mama. Just close your eyes.”
She wept softly into my chest as I ran my fingers through her shiny, long hair.
Within 5 minutes, she was asleep.
I could have went into her room when I heard her flipping about angrily in her bed and shouted at her to “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” But I chose to go with a loving embrace instead. Because, as unhappy as I was with the way she was acting, I knew that was what she needed.
Today I learned that sometimes when our children push us away the hardest is when they need our gentle, loving arms to hold them close to us the most.
.17.
This morning I woke up feeling mixed emotions.
On one hand, I was excited and proud.
On the other, I felt like I had been punched in the gut.
Every year, I write about the complex emotions I feel on this day. Every year I write about how bittersweet this day is. The day I became a mother.
17 years ago.
17 years.
Before I woke him up this morning, I studied his Almost a Man face. Not a trace of the little boy who I used to hold tightly in my arms. “He looks so much like his father now. Where did the time go?” I thought.
Then, strangely, all of his “firsts” came rushing to mind. His first breath, his first time sleeping through the night. His first tooth. His first steps. His first words. His first day in Kindergarten. Then, I thought of all of the firsts still to come. His first job, his first paycheck, his first broken heart.
How lucky I am. I have this incredibly kind, hilarious, talented son that I’ve had the pleasure of raising for the past 17 years. His possibilities are endless! His future is bright! It’s very exciting and I should be SO DAMN HAPPY.
And I am. I truly am.
At the same time… wasn’t it just yesterday that I was cradling him in my arms while rocking him to sleep? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we were discussing who his favorite Power Ranger is? Now, we’re discussing prom and his future in law enforcement.
You can understand why my heart is so conflicted, yes?
By the time I climbed in the van to take The Birthday Boy to school, I was a bit of an emotional wreck. “My baby is almost a man! My heart can’t take this!” I thought to myself as I watched him climb into the car.
*****
“You need a haircut.” I said, as we were pulling up to the school.
“I can’t get one, mom.” he responded
“What do you mean you can’t get a haircut?”
“I made a bet.”
“A bet? Oh Lord…”
“If I get a bowl cut, Jordan is going to give me $10.”
I think I said something like “you realize if you get a bowl cut, you’ll have to shave your head to fix things, right?”
“I know, Mom.” He said, in a Very Annoyed Tone.
I wished him a Happy Birthday as he got out of the car.
“That pretty much sums up the experience of having a 17 year old son right there.” I thought to myself.
And then I laughed. And I laughed all the way home.
Because, my son is 17 years old. And while while 17 year olds think they’re so smart and know more than you do about life, he’s still just childlike enough to agree to a bet that involves GETTING BOWL CUT.
Happy Birthday, my sweet baby boy. I do love you more than you could possibly even begin to understand.
Coming Home is the Best Part
“You know what, Mom?” She asked. “I just love you very much. You’re the best Mom in the world.”
I wanted to hug her so hard. But I was in a hotel room in another state. So, instead, I cried.
“I love you right back.” I replied. “And you’re the best daughter in the world.”
She giggled.
“I can not wait to see you tonight.” I added.
“Me too, Mommy! I’m so excited!”
Later that evening, I stood outside the ever busy LAX, watching out for our minivan.
I wanted to catch her reaction the moment she saw me open the van door, so I took my camera out of my camera bag and put it around my neck.
I saw the van pulling up.
I saw my husband pointing while saying something to her. I imagine he was saying “There she is. There’s your Mama!”
He pulled up to the curb, I walked around to pop open the back hatch. I held the camera up to my eye with one hand and opened up the door with my other.
I heard her scream. It was a happy scream.
I snapped a shot.
“MOMMY! MOMMY!”
“My daughter! My sweet daughter!”
I climbed into the backseat and wrapped my arms around her. She squeezed me tightly. We both had happy tears in our eyes.
Only gone for 4 days, but it felt like 100.
“Mommy? Will you play a game with me when we get home?”
“I’m so tired, but I promise you, first thing in the morning, we will play whatever game you want.”
And first thing in the morning, she informed me she would like to play “make over with mommy’s makeup.”
I put make up on her sweet little face. We talked about the things she did while I was gone. I told her about my trip. She told me she missed me every night. I told her I missed her every minute of every day. She asked if she could wear my special necklace.
“Of course you can, darling.”
I love traveling to spend time with women I admire. The experiences that I have on those trips almost always help me to grow as a person, to become a better mother. I love a little alone time away from the realities of life. But make no mistake about it. I love coming home to my family 1000 times more.
Five Years Later
I’m Pretty Sure She Meant “Twitter.”
Scene: My daughter is sitting at the kitchen table. I’m standing over here, answering a question.
She farts. LOUDLY.
“What do you say?” I ask.
“Excuse me.” She says, while giggling a little.
A few seconds later, a horrific smell fills the atmosphere.
“Goodness, little girl.” I say, while plugging my nose.
I walk away to clear the nasal passage.
“Mom!” she says, all excitedly.
“You have GOT to put that on YouTube.”
I start laughing because I’m pretty sure my daughter just told me that I should upload her fart to YouTube.
“I’m SERIOUS, Mom. put it on YouTube.”
After I stop laughing, I ask her “what do you want me to put on YouTube?” And she goes “about my fart. And send it to your friends. They will think it’s hilarious.”
No doubt, she is a child of a “digital mom.”