On Becoming Great

I'm a great mom.  Fantastic.  It is my calling in life.  I'm a good teacher, above average even.  And I'm a good wife.  Sure, I micromanage at times.  And I frequently gripe about the fact that my husband is incapable of turning off a light as he exits a room.  But I'm a good wife, above average even.

But I'm a damn good mom. Or so I'd like to think. Nights like tonight, however, truly humble me.  Nights like tonight I doubt my ability to parent effectively.

We, the kids and I, truck along pretty well all day long.  But after dinner as bedtime approaches, my stomach becomes knotted. 

What will it be today? Will this evening turn sour?

Our family has the same routine every night.  I'm big into routines.  This is good because my son is quite intelligent and craves routine.  He needs structure and must know what is coming up.  So I make verbal lists with him.

 

"What's first Mommy?"

"First we play."

"And then?"

"Then we clean up and take a bath."

"After bath?"

"Then we put on pajamas and go to bed."

"You forgot the story Mommy.  What about the story and prayer?"

"Yes, I'll read a story and we'll say a prayer after you get your pajamas on.  Then bed."

"You forgot the snug-a-bug.  What about the snug-a-bug after the story?"

"Right, BC, after your pajamas, story, prayer, you and your sister will each get a snug-a-bug before bed."

We know our routine.  It is the same every night.  But lately bedtimes have become increasingly more difficult.

All usually goes well up until the point when I am closing the door and saying my last goodnight to my kids.  Then it begins.

With urgency, "Mommy!  Mommy!  I have to tell you something."  Or "I have to get a drink of water."  Or, "I want Daddy!" It's always something.  Some nights I can get away with closing the door with minimal repercussions.  But some nights, like tonight, go so very wrong.

My son, who is almost four, lives his life with one foot on the "line" but never dares to step beyond that line.   Lately, however, all has changed.  If I say, "BC, it's time to clean up.  Please pick up your toys." 

He retorts with, "No.  I'm not going to!"

After a stern "If/Then" type conversation has occurred and a timeout has been given, he will stand there, looking me square in the eyes and refuse to move. 

This is new territory for me.  Lately I've actually had to pick him up, kicking and screaming, and place him in timeout.  At which point he proceeds to scream the world's most annoying scream/cry for the entire four-minute timeout. 

Here's the kicker.  Time outs ALWAYS always worked for my son.  Not tonight.  He refused to clean up his toys.  Refused.  Period.  Wouldn't do it.  Three timeouts later and a stern phone call from Daddy, my son still refused to budge.

BC was sent to bed early. He cried that cry, which breaks a mom's heart into a million tiny pieces.  He cried it for well over and hour.

In fact, he cried himself to sleep.

And then I cried.

What am I doing wrong?  How can this mothering gig be so painful and confusing?

After twenty minutes of silence, I walked into BC's bedroom and lay down next to him.  I slid one arm under his head and sang his special song.  The song I only sing to my son, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.  You'll never know, BC, how much I love you.  Please don't take my sunshine away."

As I sang I felt his tiny tears hit my arm.  Silently, he cried.  I went on to tell him about the day he was born and how he looked at me straight in the eyes just seconds after his birth and how I promised him at that moment I would be the best mom I could.  And some days, like today, are hard.  But we will get through them.

Some days, like today, are hard. 

But I will love him forever, through the good times and the bad.  I felt more tears drip onto my arm.  And I heard a sniffle. 

"Mommy, will you even love me when I die?" 

"Yes honey, even when you die."

"Why?"

"Because you are my son.  A mother loves her son forever."

And then I sang again. "You are my sunshine...."

I'm not sure if I did the right thing.  I'm not sure if allowing BC to cry for an hour and a half taught him him any valuable lessons.  Did he learn that he couldn't get away with defiance?  Did he learn to be more respectful?  Who knows?

What I do know is how much I don't know, you know?

I believe that being a mom is my calling.  I'm a great mom.  I try to be a great mom.  I hope that I am a great mom.  I need to be a great mom.  My children's wellbeing depends on it.

But experiences like the one I had tonight rattle me to the core. They make me question myself as a parent, as a leader, a mom, and as a soft place to fall.  When do I step back and allow my children to learn the difficult lessons of life and when do I step up to hold them when they are so clearly in pain?

These are the questions that haunt me in the quiet of the night well after my children fall asleep.  They propel me to better myself, to learn and grow. 

To become great.  And great I will be because I will strive for nothing less.

Originally posted on Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Nanette continues to chronicle her days as a mom on her personal site, SmilingMom.com.