No Point Making Apologies ...

So here, let's sit down and set the record straight:  I'm not perfect.  I know, what a shocker eh?  I, as a mother and as a person, make mistakes on a daily basis and sometimes even at a rate of several WTFs per minute.  That's human nature I suppose, I just wish that we all could realize that.  Wouldn't it be nice if we all came to the conclusion that we're not all perfect, omnipotent sentient beings that roam this earth with infallable moral code and sense of right and wrong?  Honestly, I believe it's impossible considering it's the fallacies and imperfections that make ups all human and beautiful. I know I personally live life with my face in my palm and asking myself "what was I thinking?".  

I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this, how this post is going to pan out but I decided to let my brain go and just write.  I guess my point is that I've been looking square in the face of judgement and finger pointing for a little while, at least that's what it feels like.  Any of you, dear readers, ever feel like you were at a heightened sense of awareness just because it felt like someone was constantly looking at you and criticizing every move you made?  Ohh paranoia but I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.  Living in a fish bowl or rather, a terrarium (I don't know about you but I can't breathe underwater).  We go through this at work, at home, with friends and family and neighbours and those crazy people in the grocery store who give you the side-eye when you threaten your children with leaving if they don't stop arguing with each other.  It's annoying and gets our backs up.  Some of us let it roll, some of it take it to heart.  None of us like the boss breathing down our necks when the pivot tables are having errors, our siblings looking at us over the rim of their glasses in wonderment of the next stupid move we're going to make or our friends shaking their heads as we reason with ourselves and make our excuses.  Sometimes we can almost feel the gossip oozing out behind our backs and the discussions of our behaviour without our presence to confirm, deny or defend.  Most of us just don't want to to know when that happens but we can't help our gossip "Spidey Sense" from tingling and whether or not we're giving the opportunity to defend ourselves, it doesn't hurt any less.

But it goes both ways!!  See, right now you're judging me for starting a sentence with "but" and I'm judging you for being so uptight that you'd really care about that.  My point is that as much as we hate feeling those fingers pointing at us, we do it ourselves.  We point our perfect fingers at the lesser people who we believe are totally f**king up (sorry for the lack of a better term there).  We decide what they should and shouldn't do behind their backs without them sitting beside us to either defend or discuss what is being said.  I bet the people we talk about behind their backs feel the gossip ooze coming from us.  My thinking here, my idiotic logic, is that maybe we should all just stop.  I'm trying at the very least, finding my sense of peace in my own little world with my babies and my animals but some  people will always make me raise an eyebrow.

But then we have to look at it this way:  would we want people to tell us exactly what they think all the time?  What would hurt more:  the gossip or someone in your face about your mistakes?  That's a tough call.  Sometimes I think I'd rather live in ignorant bliss about what people think of me or say about me and sometimes I think I want to face it.  Of course, my Ma used to say that I should just let people talk because if they were talking about me, they were leaving someone else alone and how very right she is.  So, we can easily discount the gossip but what about when you're faced with it and what about when someone angrily calls you on a mistake that you made?  How do we deal with that?  I know what I do, I turn and walk away.  There's no point in getting into an argument no matter how hurt we may be and until nerves are calm, there's no point in discussion.  Screaming may feel right in that moment but I know myself well enough that I'm going to make it worse if I stick around, especially if I'm hurt.  I know that making me angry is one thing and I can effectively recognize it and deal with it but hurting me is a completely different ball of wax.  I can quickly forgive being angered, I have trouble with forgiveness of being hurt. 

I guess my point is that I am who I am, I'm not perfect and nor do I claim to be.  I do the best I can with what I have and there are things that are important to me that may not be important to others.  My house is never polished clean, my laundry is never finished.  I've been known to manipulate and tell a fib to get me by.  I can be just as boisterous as I can be withdrawn.  I'm not thin, I'm not beautiful in the conventional sense plus  I've got scars and marks and wrinkles.  Most of the time I don't realize my stupidity until the mistake is over, it's never intentional or malicious but I can seem that way.  I'm aloof.  I can be flighty and hard to get to know.  I guess no one really does know me.  My relationships are usually fleeting because I can be demanding but sometimes much to complacent.  I'm a loner with a fragile ego, self-conscious but can sure as hell fake confidence when I need to.  I'm still coming to terms with who I am and discovering the process of becoming a better person.  I do what I feel is best with the little bit that I have and sometimes it doesn't make sense but hey, at least I'm doing something.

There, that's about it I think.  I make no apologies for the person that I am and dammit, none of us should.  We are all perfect human beings and by that I mean, we're all nuts.  Let's just remember our own flaws, deviations, mistakes and quirks before we appraise the value of another by their actions.  Maybe if we do that, we'll find compassion and acceptance, not anger or cynicism.

Drill Sergeant or Mrs. Cleaver?

I'd like to think that I'm going to look back at some of the things my kids do with a sense of humour and have a laugh about it all.  Does anyone have any idea about when exactly that happens?  Do I have to wait until they're grown and out on their own or does it come sooner?  I know the teenage years are out of the question for that to happen considering my own mother's curse of "I hope when you have kids they are just like you" is already coming at me in wonderful karmic justice and since my worst years were the teenage ones, I've concluded that I'm on a downward spiral.  Thank you Ma for reminding me all those years that what goes around comes around.  Those are your words of wisdom that ring in my head every time one of my kids tells me they hate me or I find that drawing on the counter in permanent Sharpie fine point marker.  That is my ultimate **face palm** moment; my mother's wish came true, it sure as hell came around ... times three.

I do have to laugh at most of what happens.  I went to the washroom earlier to find a really pretty purple line tracing around the trim of my bathroom door.  Pretty pastel purple and squiggly, the handiwork of a six-year-old girl.  When I asked the nervous faces of the little motley crew of children in my living room, a unanimous finger pointing indicated that my detective work was correct.  Plus the much too emphatic "It wasn't ME!" was all the proof I needed.  So, Little Miss Picasso was sent to her room for a time-out only for me to putter into the kitchen and find my son's birthday cake had gone through some sort of ritual sacrifice.  Once again, the work of a tiny, female Van Gogh with the help of her brother, Vlad the Pastry Impaler.

It seems lately that my pleas of "don't leave that on the floor", "dirty underwear don't belong in your bed", "stop ripping the legs off of your dolls", "leave that last sip of milk for my tea please", "stop hitting/kicking/slapping/screaming/whining/banging/pounding/throwing/tossing/spitting/grabbing/pinching/gouging ..." are going unnoticed.  No matter how many times I stress to not to make that face/grab that toy/throw stink eye/pitch attitude/put that back/take that out ... it falls on small, selectively deaf ears.  Please insert a mental image of me with two handfuls of my hair and boiling blood pressure.

Time Out has run it's course, it doesn't work anymore.  I almost mourn the many years that Time Out and I have spent together but, in true universal fashion, everything has to come to an end.  Spanking and I never had a good relationship, we kind of just stare at each other  Me on one side saying that any violence isn't worth it and it on the other saying, "C'mon, it'll get the point across.  Just remember 'Mom's Helping Hand' ".  Scolding, talking and the eventual barking like a drill Sergeant are all part of the Mommy Repertoire but they are failing me.  And yes, I know hollering is not a good thing but dammit, they sure as hell notice once I bellow and dearest readers, I haven't been referred to as "Roseanne" for nothing.  Along with my friend Time Out, Confiscation of Coveted Goods is also running away.  Taking the toys, the crayons, the fun away for a set period of time used to be my charm.  It worked so well the first few times that just the threat of La-La-Loopsy living in my bedroom for an undetermined amount of time would stop any radical behaviour (e.g.:  colouring the bathroom and some paper with a brand new tube of bright red lipstick).  I miss the days where threats of Time Out and Confiscation would work or a bellow would stop my animals, er, kids dead in their tracks.  

Now, don't get me wrong here, I don't punish and take without explanations as to why I did what I did.  I ensure that after the inevitable dramatics of some little drama queens and my son's wide-eyed shock and awe have dissipated, we have a sit down to discuss what they did and why they should not, can not and will not have a repeat (oooh, rephrase:  hope we don't have a repeat).  We talk about respect for others, adults, friends and most importantly, themselves.  Considering that their mother is a fledgling Buddhist, it's important that values of consideration, empathy/sympathy, understanding, non-judgement, acceptance, compassion, honesty and awareness are taught.  It may be in small doses but hey, I'm still figuring this shit out for myself too.  

I think there is also the unpreventable confusion of being raised by a single mother who happens to be working full-time from Monday to Friday almost twelve hours a day sometimes.  Some days it feels like I have evening and weekend custody with child care costs being a twisted form of child support.  I'm sure a lot of parents feel that, even in unbroken or blended families with two working parents.  Balance isn't easy, especially when you're lop-sided like me.  I have to try to balance the cookie baking, sweet as pie, fun-loving June Cleaver with the hard ass household dictator.  How the hell do I do that?  Wear fatigues and oven mitts?  Do I make up drill songs to the tune of songs from the Sound of Music?  Am I Mary Poppins who repels in from a Sikorsky C-148 Cyclone helicopter wearing a house dress and an apron instead of floating down on an umbrella?  Okay, you have my point.  Now just think, if that oxymoron role of easy-going disciplinarian is confusing and frustrating to me, how must it feel to them?  I need a resident psychologist, behaviourist, yogi, meditation specialist and a monk to give me all of the answers to the questions I have.  Blech and pout.

So, I'm told consistency is key and consistent I am, or at least doing the best that I can to maintain it.  I have all my fingers and toes crossed, insight meditation, loving-kindness meditation and the proverbial rabbit's foot at the ready in hopes that someday my house will find peace, harmony and Roseanne will be able to leave with Time Out.  I'm sure they'd make a great couple.

For now, I have to go let the girls know that dimes do not belong in their brother's nose.