Most of us don’t wear pointy, golden brassieres or sexy tight cat suits so it may not be so obvious but I am convinced that all mothers are either Super Hero’s or Goddesses. Personally, I am far from being Helen of Troy or Hestia I feel as though I am more of a cross between Hera and Aphrodite with a little Medusa thrown in.
In the past three months my superhuman powers have reached dangerously high toxic levels as I managed to survive four birthdays, an attempted anniversary celebration and Halloween. Throw in a few child medical emergencies, struggling finances, a bronchial cold that nearly killed me and the full moon and there you have it, Goddess extraordinaire straight out of Greek Mythology. Like the Goddesses I have accepted my fate laced with imperfections and obstacles that I must overcome.
I read an article in the New York Times that said that screaming is the new spanking and I couldn’t relate more. The boys have a difficult time settling down in the evenings and the crazier they get the louder Wade and I become with our shouting. Yes, I know that yelling at your children is ineffective, most of the time, and only causes them to withdraw but I honestly feel that sometimes they need a little shout for them to actually hear my message.
On a good day I am an Opera singer, hitting a high note and holding it until they stop their monkeying around to curiously find out what the hell is making more noise then they are. On a recent predominantly bad day, I was less attractive in my mode of discipline. I had absolutely had enough of being manipulated by my incredibly obnoxious wild things and so I yelled out, “How much do you think that mommy and daddy will take of this behavior before we decide to move out?”
Let me explain for a moment. The impetus for this comment was the children’s book, The Willoughby’s, by Lois Lowry and the excerpt that I cannot seem to shake is the following:
“Do you like our children?”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Willoughby said, “I never have. Especially that tall one. What is his name again?”
“Hes’ the one I least like. But the others are awful too. The girl whines incessantly”.
“I have a plan,” Mr. Willoughby said, “It’s thoroughly despicable.”
“Lovely”, said his wife. “A plan for what?”
“To rid us of the children.”
“Oh goodness, do we have to walk them into a dark forest? I don’t have the right shoes for that.”
“No, this is a better plan. More business like.”
“Ooooh, goody. I’m all ears,” she replied with a malevolent smile.
I felt badly when all three boys broke down into tears after I said it and I tried to explain my outburst individually to each child. I was stroking my middle child, Axel’s, soft hair and looking down at his sweet face when he asked, “Why would you ever leave us?”
I wanted to jump out of the window for failing so miserably as a mother. Why couldn’t I have delivered my message without upsetting them so? I told him that enough was enough and that they needed to give their daddy and I the respect that we deserved as parents and calm down when it was time for bed.
If only I truly were a Goddess, I could cause a mini cyclone as a warning in the midst of their rough housing or maybe I am a Goddess and haven’t fully tapped into it yet. After all, I have been known to be fierce, loving, warrior like, sexual and even narcissistic at times.
So, move over Zeus and make a well deserved seat for me on Mount Olympus and while you’re at it hand me over one of your lightening bolts.