I've talked about this before, how being a mom, every day, hour, minute, can be a struggle. Luckily for me , my medications have been working and, except for a week after Christmas, things have been going well for about 8 months.
I'm doing well {knock on wood}. Well enough that I've even begun looking forward to situations I usually shy away from. I'm not 100% in every circumstance but the anxiety has gone way down.
Except for Sundays.
That day seems to be the exception to every anxiety rule I follow. And it mainly centers around church. It just about breaks me every week.
On Saturday nights I give myself a pep talk; you can do this, it's only 3 hours of church! Then we get there and the panic attacks start threatening. I am certain of where it comes from and I hate to place blame but -
It's Everett.
I know he's only three and a half and still learning how the world works around him but that first 70 minutes of time before Sunday School is like a waking nightmare. His boundless energy and independence is the exact antithesis of what is required to sit still and be reverent for that long. We've tried explaining what Sundays are all about but all he understands is that, eventually, he gets to play with his friends. So the first bit with talks and songs seems like an eternity for him.
And us.
I understand that it's just this stage and this too shall pass and he'll never be this age again so enjoy it, etc.
I get it. But Sundays are supposed to be a recharging day for me and instead it just starts the week out on a misstep.
My anxiety finally starts to calm by Sunday School but then flares again as church ends and I have to chase Everett as he runs wild around the building. By the time we get home I'm so frustrated and overwhelmed I just need space and a nap. Instead, it's time for dinner, baths and bedtime routines. All of which is a fight because his adrenaline is still up. By the time 7pm rolls around and the kids are finally in their beds, if not asleep, and I have a minute to think, it's always the same thought -
Why are Sundays so HARD?
They're supposed to be a day of peace and contemplation. Not hard feelings, exasperation and panic attacks.
So I'm making a pledge to be better on Sundays. Me. Not Everett. He's going to be the same no matter how I feel. He's him and I can't control his emotions. But I can control mine and how I react to him.
We're going to a different church schedule now that will begin at 9am instead of 1pm. I'm hoping that means I'll still be fresh and awake, ready for whatever Sunday wants to throw at me. Because I am in charge of my thoughts and actions. My anxiety is not my master. And each week I'll do a little better because, sometimes, a little better is all it takes.
I've been re-reading some of my parenting books recently. OK, I read them all in one night.
I have felt at such a loss as to how I should communicate and discipline my children lately. Jason helps a TON, but after he's at work, it falls to me to be the parent. The one who deals with the after-school meltdowns, the bedtime tantrums about brushing teeth and the heartbreaking sound of my baby saying "no" to hugs and kisses at bedtime.
I'm struggling to be the kind and caring stay at home mom I always imagined I'd be - baking cookies before they came home from school to a clean house with activities ready to stave off boredom.
Instead I've got down the basics. Feed them. Clean them. Clean up after them. Get them to bed before I have a mental breakdown. Some days that's enough. Most of the time I don't feel like it is.
I've read through all the parenting books you see. Some are wonderfully helpful. Others - I could do without.
It helps that I already know who my children are.
Penny is imaginative, sensitive, fair and very animated.
Everett is always busy, energetic, fearless and independent.
Now these descriptions can be seen in both a positive or a negative light depending on the situation. For my purposes, I'm trying only to see the good.
Knowing the personalities of my children is great but I don't always know the best way to interact with them. Discipline is also a struggle. I want them to understand if an action is incorrect but I don't want to kill off the innate spark of joy they both contain. There's a fine line between correcting and becoming the "mommy monster." I find myself crossing that line all the time.
I also want to show them love in the ways they understand it best. After re-reading The 5 Love Languages for Children (a very good read, I must say) Jason and I discovered that both of our children react very positively to spending quality time with us. Either alone with one parent or together as a family. Knowing this, we have tried to set up some small parent/kid dates so they can feel that connection to us.
I've noticed that spending a little more time paying attention instead of hurrying through the day improves sour moods almost immediately. For them as well as for me. Penny also enjoys small gifts (even if it's just a treat from the grocery store). Something to let her know you were thinking of her. Everett loves you to tell him how good he is doing at something and for us to say I love you.
Now, these books are just outlines. I have to be the one to complete the story of how I am with my children. And every day builds a new chapter of challenges and greater insights. I love my kids fiercely and want them to grow up happy, however that develops for them. So if encouraging that involves me reading four parenting books in one night - so be it.
Anything for these two little bugs.
