As a parenting blogger, I frequently share about how wonderful and lovely my kids are and how fortunate I am to be their mother. I enjoy photographing our outings and antics, then uploading them to social media with breezy captions such as, “Enjoying a beautiful hike!” or “Ice cream cones! Yum!” Being a mother to boys ages nine and seven is filled with laughter, hugs, sweetness, and light. Except when it’s not.
Take, for example, a recent Sunday morning. Why my two boys turn into raving lunatics when they’re sent into the bathroom to brush their teeth is beyond me. Pushing, shoving, splashing. I. Was. Done. You know that moment when you step outside of yourself and cast a sideways look at the real you and think, This is going to be ugly. That’s what happened.
Completely Losing It
I went six kinds of crazy. I yelled the entire way to church. I issued incredibly mature ultimatums, such as, “If you don’t like our rules, you can move out!” Even though I had stopped making sense somewhere between our driveway and the first stop sign, I pressed on with the kind of passion seen in presidential hopefuls as they address awe-inspired crowds, and I finished in a crescendo of cursing. Truly top-notch parenting. Did I mention we were on our way to church?
Once I finally got them situated in Sunday school (those boys had never loved the sight of circle time more), I grabbed a coffee and called my husband.1