"Motherhood is a bi-polar sort of occupation." I recently read that comment, made by someone else on another someone else' s blog-post, and it stuck to me. Not precisely negative or complaining, not rosy or impossibly cheerful, just true for me. Mothering brings out the best and the worst in me; and, my mothering brings out the best and worst in my kids. Some days are fabulous and I congratulate myself for being such a wise, loving, educating, understanding mother. Of course, you know what comes the next day--the opposite. Where did my patience go? Where are the well-mannered, helpful children hiding? Didn't I laugh at disaster just yesterday? Why is everyone crying?
That tug-of-war, to and fro, bi-polar quality is exactly what I've noticed as I read over my journal lately. I'm finding that I must--must--record the happenings (good, bad, sad, and funny) so I can 1. remind myself that all is not lost, there are many happy times, and 2. so I can see the pattern and prepare for the next bummer day.
Case in point, try out these unedited excerpts from my journal:
February 23
Dallin and Nate played happily together with Legos today. That's always worth noting. It was actually about 2 hours! I didn't disturb them even though it was resting time! And I rarely use exclamation marks, so that really is something.
February 24
But they fought over the Legos all day today. And stole Matthew's “special” set from his room, and then lied to me about it. Grrr.
Jamie Beth threw a tantrum about practicing piano. I may have almost lost my temper.
Matthew is learning that not every school class is going to be his favorite. He's trying to decide for junior high between classes he doesn't like and classes he really, really doesn't like.
My brain is leaking out, I'm pretty sure. I'm eating Nutella on pretzels to console myself. But here's a tender mercy: Celia fell asleep just now, minutes after Matt took the kids to his basketball game, and minutes before I plan to go to bed.
It's 7:03 and that is 6 hours earlier than I went to bed last night. Which is precisely why my brain is leaking out.
March 20
I've actually had at least a week of good days. It's funny that during these better days, I can't even remember what was wrong with me back on those bad days. Not that this week has seen my house become a sparkling haven, or any projects have been finished, or that I was a singing, loving mother every moment. But...BUT...I did set a goal each day—just one, because after all I have a baby still—and I accomplished that goal each day.
March 26
I wasn't kind and patient enough with Nate, I shouted a couple times, I didn't accomplish my goal of cleaning up my room, I had a hard time with Jamie Beth and a school project—she cried twice about my helping her. She thought she would never finish because I was correcting too much.
March 31
Despite a day-long headache that precluded all housewifely usefulness, today is the third day in a row that I felt was a good day. It could have something to do with greater efforts at prayer, scripture study time, and talking quietly. Also meal-planning.
Now I should go to bed, but once again I'm hungry. Celia sucks the nutrition out of me.
April 17
Today the kids happily played card games and board games until church. They dressed themselves and each other so they would have more time to play. Matthew taught them the rules. I heard no fights, no tears, hardly a mean tone. Then, they were unbelievably, impeccably respectful and attentive when the home teachers came. They were reverent in church. (Nate was relatively reverent.) And, at the end of the day, no one argued with me when it was time to leave Nana's house. I wish I knew what happened so I could replicate it. Happy Sabbath day to me.
April 21
I'm busy, but calm. Surprisingly calm.
April 25
I worked hard all day but don't see much difference now. I'm telling myself that the house is just a little ahead of where it was this morning, so tomorrow I will get even further. Farther? I never know. I know in my heart that the living room is dusted, the hallway baseboards are clean, some walls are cleaner, two loads of laundry were washed (though not folded), and dishes were slowly washed throughout the day because, darn it, the dishwasher is not working and I have to handwash everything. Also vacuumed the living room and hallway, fed children many times, swept the kitchen, dropped off and picked up Dallin from soccer practice, and made a new, if mediocre recipe for dinner. Read scriptures and wrote in journal. A very full, though possibly invisible day.
Invisible. The word is a curse at times, a blessing at others. It connotes uselessness and futility on my bad days; it's like a giggled secret between me and my fast-growing children on good days. It's the bi-polar thing again.
Last week I sent this musing into the Facebook cosmos:
I feel tired and happy with the knowledge that some good things got done today, still-messy house notwithstanding. Maybe it's not messy after all; maybe it's just in a constant state of transition, a process rather than a completion. The reason I keep writing down in my journal all the household tasks I've done, all the reading to kids, and mediating arguments, is just so I remind myself that I really am doing something...because it's all invisible, isn't it? Yet not less valuable.
