I am finding that my stress levels are just insanely high right now.
You know, the kind where a very loud noise makes you plug your ears and rock back and forth in the fetal position? I haven’t exactly done that per say, but that’s the visual that pops into my head when the dogs play fight with each other all day every day while Quinn is talking to me and the t.v is on and his tablet is somewhere making its own noise and and and…..not to mention everything I am saying goes unheard.
It would be one thing to manage my reaction to the overstimulation if it was only a sporadic event that happened every now and then.
But, alas, it has been all day every day for at least a week straight.
The expression, I love my family, but no one fights as much as we do should be put up on a plaque. The kind with all the swirly letters that usually say things like “I love you to the moon and back” or “great things are going to happen”.
Yep that kind.
Or maybe I should have one that reads “no, don’t pick that up because that’s what a mom is for and is this thing ok to hit with a sword?” or “stop looking at me.”
I have to remind myself that we all really do love one another deeply as the dog runs into the living room carrying something that “missed the garbage you were standing right next to” and then proceeds to shred it mercilessly all over the floor. Or when I make store bought lasagna for dinner that no one wants, but I’m like “I just spent six hours scrubbing our toilets, so eat it.”
You really know you love someone when you clean their toilet.
I can’t remember where I heard it from. The saying “women clean the toilet by scrubbing it really hard, and men clean it by trying to pee on the stains really hard.” Well, it’s basically a scientific fact y’all.
I’m not complaining. Honestly I am not! I am just saying that my mommy brain is going to snap here pretty soon.
I can imagine how I look to people when they see me. Actually, I know how people see me because most get defensive when they look at my “I’ve just been yelled at by a five year old for the last few hours” face and confuse it with me just being a very big (insert profanity here).
Basically I just look homicidal and don’t have friends because most people tap into basic survival mode 101 when they are around me. Apparently meeting people when you have angry face is impossible.
I wish I could soothe them gently with a soft stroke on the shoulder and say “no no, I’m nice, I am just thinking really hard.” But I imagine my arm coming at them paired with my emotionally constipated faced would give the wrong signal.
I used to kind of joke around about the fact that Quinn had so much energy that in order to keep him relaxed, I had to walk him like a dog. (its just an expression, calm the shocked reactions). Used to work like a charm and he did 5k runs by the age of 2.
Now the actual dog needs to be walked or else he will turn against my furniture, and Quinn’s energy went from his body to his mouth.
Did I mention fresh air and walks don’t work?
The hysteria just continues on the road with the dogs barking at everything that moves and my hand bleeding because the 60 lb puppy pulls the entire hour with such a force that I am shocked he hasn’t collapsed his trachea. It’s as if, the more I walk him, the more in shape he becomes and exercise just gives him more energy to terrorize the house. That, and the more I walk Quinn, the more I become an awful mom because hills exist.
Seriously, if my dog were a teenager, he would be doing drugs and knocking up the neighborhood and then coming home to blare heavy metal music through all hours of the evening. Love him, but he can be a gigantic furry (insert profanity here) sometimes.
Some days I just don’t get it.
I know about diet, I know the importance of routine and exposure, how important sleep is. The list is endless! But here I am, having all of the wonderful parenting tools at my disposal, and finding that sometimes even the best tricks in the book can’t stop insanity.
So, the point of all of this.
In the end, I take responsibility, but I don’t blame myself.
Blame and responsibility have a very fine line between them which can only be distinguished by tears I’m guessing. Not sure if everyone else can judge things by the amount they cry as I tend to cry involuntarily after four hours of noise torture. Maybe that’s a bad way to distinguish them.
I’d say blame causes days of pointless internal struggle, while responsibility is like blame, only it lasts moments and you don’t ponder over it for days. Instead, you take the situation, realize your part and FIX THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF IT.
Or in my case, when there are a lot of factors colliding into one another, just allowing myself permission to take a step back for myself.
That’s probably one of the hardest thing for me to do as a parent. Take me time that is.
I still haven’t been able to do it without guilt. I can be frustrated to tears one minute, and then if Quinn isn’t around I will stop and reflect and wonder why on earth was I so frustrated? Then I will miss the dickens out of him!
I can only imagine the psycho analysis I am getting from you readers.
Uuieiioj;o……..sorry, a squirrel just ran over my keyboard.
I guess what I am trying to say is that parenting and relationships are the best thing in the world. I may want to pull my hair out in large, painful chunks at times, but at the end of the day I can see how much I have grown. I will never stop growing just like Quinn will never stop growing.
Some day I will be able to look back at having Quinn call me “grumpy mom” and laugh with him.
Not now, obviously because we have heated arguments about sprinkles and once you’ve reached that precipice of family banter, you know it will take a bit to get any real progress.
And I hold on to that like a life raft during the moments when I have to repeat myself ten times for him to dress for school, or to “for the love of god, please put the toothpaste on your toothbrush and not the cat” every morning.
Sometimes, the best thing I can do is turn on the music loud and hug him even though I apparently “embarrass” him with my mom moves.
So dance on with me readers…..the love is there