Screaming in the Wilderness of My Livingroom
August 18, 2007
Hi. It’s Kimberly from Parenting Without a License taking over the guest posting chair today. I’ve been going around and around about what to write here ever since I begged asked Karen if I could whore myself guest post here. First off, I was giddy with all the profanity I could use here–four letter words! In combination even! When that buzz wore off, I realized I still had to actually, you know, write a post. But today is not a good day for writing (although it’s shaping up to be a fine day for profanity).
So far, today has been everything I loathe about motherhood. The whining. The screaming. The utter defiance. The misplaced sense of injury and injustice. The lack of patience and feeling like I would rather stick flaming toothpicks in my eyes than stay in this house for one more second. That powderkeg feeling of tension growing and building to a fever pitch. And did I mention the screaming?
I’m thinking longingly of school. Boarding school. For me, not her.
I got up this morning with every intention of making a good beginnning: I would make breakfast. We would play. There would be work done, and then FUN to be had. This plan was, in fact, agreed upon by the principal parties last night, but Diva Girl continues to have trouble with the concept that our lives won’t stop and reset according to her whims. Or her screaming.
It’s been a morning of butting heads. A morning of “Play With ME!” and “She’s touching MY things!” and “You just don’t LOVE me!” A morning of “Don’t bug your sister.” and “Mama is trying to get some work done.” and “Go. To. Your. Room.”
And then there’s the screaming. Did I mention the screaming? Cuz there’s screaming. Lots and lots of screaming. From both of us. She does something, like express outrage at the fact that she’s expected to pick up the toybox she scattered across the livingroom, and then I speak to her sharply, a wee bit annoyed, since it feels like she just spent the past hour watching me put this room to rights. Then she yells at me. And I, in an infinite show of maturity, yell back. It escalates from there, to the point that I realize that much though I love and adore her, I do not actually like my Diva Girl right now.
And that is the worst part of this whole mess. I want to like her. I often do. Much of the time I enjoy spending time with her. But then there are the other times. The times she seems to suck all of the oxygen right out of the room. The times that she just won’t stop talking. Or worse, screaming. Although sometimes, the incessant gabbling is worse. The constant background chatter that begins the instant she realizes that my concentration is focussed elsewhere, and that grates on and on until beaten, I give her my attention. Only to have her “forget” what she wanted to say, show me, ask, whatever.
These are the times when she’s right, I don’t actually like her. Which makes me not like myself very much, either. After all, what kind of mother doesn’t like her child? I think if we’re honest, almost all of us, at some point. But the problem is, we’re so very often not honest when it comes to motherhood. We’re trained to put the very best face on it all. To deny the hard parts and pretend to embrace the challenges with an enthusiasm that sometimes we frankly don’t feel.
I recognize that I’m being selfish. I could play with the damn Barbies rather than writing, or doing the dishes, or finally excavating under the couch, or the myriad other things that I’m doing that are patently not bowing to her whims. It would appease her. My life would be made easier for it. But also, it would be made less.
Why do I have to be held hostage to the whims and demands of an 8 year-old? Why do I have to put aside what I want to do just to appease her when she’s being an utter pill? Why can’t she just suck it up and realize I’m not fucking 8 yrs old, and I don’t find the interior life of 8 yr olds–what there is of it, because god knows, they don’t seem capable of keeping any of it interior– particularly interesting?
Because I’m the Mama is the party line. And it’s true. But I’m also ME, and I deserve to be allowed the time and space to be me, as well as Diva Girl’s mommy. Why can’t she take the times I do play and dance and pillow fight for what they are, and not ruin it by constantly demanding more?
No wonder I feel like screaming.
August 18th, 2007 at 10:10 am
I think that we all have those days. Some more than others. What do you call a 7 year old boy with the same issues….not a diva, not a drama king….what’s the word that i’m looking for?? Anyhow, you are NOT alone. You deserve you time as much as your children deserve to have their time.
August 18th, 2007 at 7:36 pm
WOW….you have spoken the words that live in my brain. The screaming….outside my head, inside my head. Motherhood is not all flowers and butterflies. My kids are still younger - 4 and 2 and now that the baby blur is over, I find my patience tested often with the contstant disciplining and need to entertain. My 2 year old is much more tempermentaly than the 4 year old ever was and so it’s hard adapting to that. I think it’s ok to stop “liking” our children every now again….a good cue to get out of the house on your own to recharge the mommy batteries.
Great post!
August 18th, 2007 at 9:00 pm
The worst bit is, when its beautiful you think “how could I ever think otherwise” but when its not the clashing is just almost too hard to bear.
I have to remind myself I am the grown up some days also.
August 20th, 2007 at 11:40 am
oh i hear that one daily…
“mom, mom, mom ,mom, mom, MOM, MOM, MOM!!!”
“what?”
“um, well, um… i forgot”
you are def. not alone on those feelings. everyone gets to enjoy those days… heh heh.
August 26th, 2007 at 3:07 pm
Happened on this blog today and started to read what you have written. The entire time I am wondering “how old is this child?” and saying to myself “hmmmm sound so much like my 9 year old son.”
Sure enough, you say your child is 8!
I could FEEL her age before I read it!! My son is sooooo much like what you have written! NOTHING is ever good enough. I give him an inch and he takes a mile. He feels so misunderstood and believes he is never heard. Many times I have silently said that I don’t LIKE him. Outsiders have said that maybe we clash the way we do because we are too much alike…
Same shit… different day…