11:04 PM: Oh. It’s later than I thought. I guess I won’t read tonight. Straight to sleep!
11:06 PM: Shoot. I sort of need to pee. But so comfortable. So cold out there. I’m just going to ignore it.
12:35 AM: I HAVE TO PEE! But so cold out there.
12:45 AM: (Finally gets up to pee)
1:15 AM: (Can’t fall back to sleep. It’s hot. Kicks off a blanket.)
1:34 AM: (Can’t fall asleep. It’s freezing. Puts on a blanket.)
2:02 AM: Fuck this. I’m still awake. This sucks. My feet are cold, my middle is hot, my shoulders are cold. (Arranges blanket to cover feet and shoulders only. This is not easy to do while keeping blanket on sleeping husband.)
2:27 AM: Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)
2:35 AM: Nope, not like this. (Rolls over.)
2:41 AM: Nope. Not like this. (Rolls over.)
3:00 AM: Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)
3:03 AM: Nope, not like this. (Rolls over.)
3:07 AM: Nope. Not like this. (Rolls over.)
3:15 AM: If I roll over one more time Tim will smother me with a pillow. How many hours have I been awake now? Ummm, numbers are hard. I think I slept for an hour. Tomorrow should be a great day. Go to sleep NOW!
3:18 AM: WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?
3:18-3:40 AM: Goes through 7 different home invasion scenarios. If the bad guys do it just right, we might just get out of here alive. Chances of living through the night? Probably about 36%.
3:41 AM: What’s that car doing on our street? Who drives around at 3:41 AM? Killers, that’s who.
3:42-4:00 AM: How long would it take before someone discovered that all of us have been murdered? Who would find us? How long would it take before someone noticed we were missing and got worried enough to check it out? No one expects us at school or anything. Oh, Tim’s work! They’d call in the morning when he didn’t show up. Then… what? They’d call a few times. At what point would they call the police? That seems so extreme. Who would call my mom? How would all my friends find out? Maybe my sister would post it on Facebook. I guess that’s what you do these days. Cleaning out and selling the house will be a terrible job for my mom. My poor mom. Ugh. Who would buy a house that my entire family was murdered in?
4:01 AM: Shut your stupid thoughts down, Allison. This is dumb. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)
4:03 AM: I have a great idea for a blog post. I should write it down. Or, I could just get up and go downstairs to actually write the whole thing. I’m awake anyway. But so cold out there. I should definitely write the idea down at least. I always forget. Nah. I’ll totally remember.
4:07 AM: Wait, what was that idea again? It’s just out of mental reach. Fuck. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)
4:08 AM: Holy crap I’m so thirsty. Think I might die of thirst. No wonder I’m awake. (Takes sip of water from glass on bedside table without sitting up properly, dribbles everywhere. Flips pillow.)
4:15 AM: FUCK THIS! IT’S FUCKING FOUR FUCKING FIFTEEN IN THE FUCKING MORNING. THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)
4:20 AM: fucketyfuckfuckfuckfuckfucketyfuckfuck
4:22 AM: (Gets up to pee.)
4:25 AM: This is serious now. Sleep dammit!
4:26 AM: Look at that bastard over there sleeping. What the fuck is his problem. Jerk.
4:27 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:29 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:33 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:34 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:39 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:42 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:45 AM: (Rolls over.)
4:46 AM: (Hears thud from daughter’s room.) WHAT WAS THAT? I should probably go check on her. Oh, she’s fine. It’s cold out there. And I’m finally feeling sooo sleeeeeppppyyyy.
4:46-5:05 AM: Goes through several different scenarios in which daughter dies. (Cries while imagining the horror of discovering her.)
5:06 AM: Fuck this. I’m going to sleep.
5:09 AM: OMG HOW AM I GOING TO SURVIVE TOMORROW? I’ve had an hour’s sleep. I’m going to die. And it’s school vacation. And it’s rainy. SHIT! I’m going to actually murder the children tomorrow. I am the worst mother. Fuckety fuck fuck. Fuck insomnia. This sucks.
5:20 AM: I’m so tired. So so tired. I think I might be able to finally…
6:02 AM: (Startles awake) What was that? Oh, I was actually sleeping. Wonderful, beautiful sleep. I think I might be able to just….
6:49 AM: (Startles awake as Tim gets up to shower) Sweet sleep…
7:00 AM: (Startles awake as Tim gets out of the shower)
“What time is it?”
“Really? Good I got some sleep.”
“No, not really. It’s 7:00.”
“Shit. I had the worst night’s sleep ever.”
“Yeah, I know. You were really annoying.”
“Sorry. Well, the kids were up late. Hopefully they’ll sleep in.”
7:05 AM: (Bedroom door opens) “Is it morning, Mama?” Sigh. “Yes it is.”
“Mommy, can we please use your makeup?”
“But please? We asked really nicely. We want to play nicely together.”
“That’s sweet, and you did ask nicely. Thank you. But the answer is still no about my makeup. I’m sure you can find something else to play nicely together with.”
“But we really want to use it and we never get to and we’ll be really careful and we’ll be good for the rest of today and we’ll go to bed really early and not come back downstairs and we’ll be good tomorrow too.”
“I’m sure you’ll do all of that anyway because you’re such great kids. The answer is still no. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“But why, Mommy?”
“This isn’t open for discussion. I said no.”
Luke has a hard time with no. Many kids do, I realize, but every other kid on the planet (I’m pretty sure) will drop it eventually. Not Luke. He will take this to the nth degree. I don’t want to engage. I have a nice evening planned and I don’t want to have to take it away. I want to drop this so we can move on. So I’m staying calm, remaining firm, and not giving him any reasons why. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? That’s what the books say.
“No. Please stop asking me.”
“This isn’t open for discussion.”
“But just tell me why. Why can’t we?”
“I’m not changing my mind and you’re going to make me angry. It’s time to drop it. Luke, really, stop.”
“But just tell me why?”
I don’t answer. It’s over if I don’t say anything, right?
“Mom? Mom? Mom? You can’t ignore me. What if I got a knife and cut my head off, would you ignore me then? Mom? Why? Why can’t we use your makeup? Why? I don’t get it. You’re so mean. Mom? We’ll be really good. We just want to play together. Isn’t that what you want? That we play nicely together? If you don’t let us use your makeup I’m going to punch Sally in the face and break her things and it will be your fault. Would that make you happy?”
“Luke, this is me warning you. I’m starting to lose my patience. You need to stop yourself. Now.”
“Just tell me why!”
“This is the last warning. I’m getting angry. Do you understand?”
My voice is still calm and even. I am going to diffuse this fucking thing if it’s the last fucking thing I fucking do. He storms away, knocking a book to the floor. I let it slide, not needing to lock horns with him now over picking up that book. I hope this is over. It’s not. He comes back with a note that says: “You are a jerk.”
“Go to your room.”
“No, I’m sorry. Why? I didn’t say anything. I didn’t mean it. It’s not about you. No, please no. Please, please, please no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“I’m angry now like I warned you. Now go to your room please!”
Speaking sternly, but still not yelling. I’m going to fucking win this fucking thing!
“No I’m really really really sorry. Here, I’ll write another note about being sorry.”
“Luke, go to your room!”
And there it is, folks. The last straw. He hasn’t budged towards his room. He is staring me down. Calling me a jerk to my face and defying me. I’ve been here before. There is only one way to get him to actually go to his room. The only thing that works. Why did I put it off for so long anyway? I scream at him:
“YOUR ROOM NOW, LUKE! GO! GO! GO! NOW!”
“I hate you! You are such a jerk!”
He stomps off to his room.
And this is how it goes here. I can’t win. No matter my intentions or mood to start, no matter how calm I remain through so much disrespectful behavior, he eventually pushes me over the edge. Every time. If I didn’t blow up then he would have escalated further – hitting his sister and destroying stuff. He will always get the reaction he wants eventually.
He wins again and I lose. Of course his win is a loss for all of us.
My mother has more patience for annoying things than your average person. She somehow tunes out what would drive anyone else crazy. Her general equanimity remained unaltered despite her three children’s cacophonous voices, vexing messiness, and constant fighting.
Every once in a while, though, she’d snap.
“NOW YOU’VE DONE IT!” she’d scream at us when she reached that breaking point, implying that we had finally gone so far, been so terrible, that we crossed a line. Just in case we didn’t pick up on the implication, she might shout, “IF YOU MADE ME YELL, YOU MUST BE REALLY ROTTEN!”
With that, she’d storm out the door and to her garden on the far side of our property.
It seemed unpredictable, what might send her over the edge. We didn’t necessarily do anything more obnoxious than any other day. Maybe exasperation was cumulative? Turns out it was PMS, but none of us knew that at the time. This was the late ’70s and early ’80s and PMS was not a widely recognized thing, despite women everywhere suddenly hating everyone.
What I remember was the feeling of, “Oh, shit we’ve really done it this time. We ruined everything.” Without her (nearly) endless patience, we’d be in serious trouble, all the time. My job, I felt, was to sit vigil in the window and watch her in the garden, to make sure she didn’t leave the property. If she left, surely she’d never return, and we’d be doomed. I imagined her ripping weeds from the ground while angrily thinking about how terrible we were and how awful we made her life. It wouldn’t be long before she planned her escape.
From her perspective, I learned years later, she felt better immediately upon slamming the back door leaving us inside and her alone. She’d weed her garden and pick vegetables happily, not stewing over her horrible children or plotting her flight for freedom. By the time she returned to the house, she was so far past the anger that it was a non issue.
Meanwhile, when she returned to the house with a bowl of fresh beans, smelling of Earth, I’d make sure I was on my very best behavior, hoping to endear myself to her again so she wouldn’t abandon us. Ultimately, this made her garden retreat a double win for her. She felt better and her kids stopped being assholes, at least temporarily.
I did not inherit my mother’s temperament or tolerance. I’m easily irritated and can’t keep calm in the face of my children’s obnoxious exploits. Shouting the phrase “Now you’ve done it!” would be pointedly meaningless in my household. My kids hear me yelling so often that it’s a useless measure. That is, until all things align just right. Then, something in me snaps (more than usual) and the yelling takes on a note of hysteria. Then the kids sit up and notice. I recognize the fear in their eyes and I don’t care. I have to leave.
I don’t have a far away garden that soothes me. Instead, when I lose it, if my husband is home, I get in the car and drive off in a fury. I generally have nowhere to go, and am not fit to be in public anyway. I look exactly how I feel – like a lunatic. I don’t want to sit in a coffee shop reading a book or in a restaurant sipping a glass of wine. I want to yell and scream and rampage like a two-year-old. Instead, I usually pull over into some random parking lot and cry for a while, then just kill time until either the kids are in bed for the night or I can be trusted to actually like them again.
While I don’t come home smelling of Earth and feeling renewed, I do come home. And my children are appropriately afraid and sorry and hoping to endear themselves to me again. I might feel guilty for storming out. I probably feel like a bad mother. But then I remember my mom and her garden. And even though those occasions were full of yelling, anger, and upset, my memories of them always make me smile. It’s those crazy moments in a family that no one else knows about – the secret hidden stuff that makes it only ours. Somehow, it’s the crazy that makes family family.
My children’s lives are safe and happy, as mine was. If having a crazy mother is the worst thing that happens in their childhood, so be it. Their crazy mother might sometimes be a tempest, but I love my kids and they know that. Occasionally seeing that their mother is only human and needs a break is just fine.
One day I’ll tell them that while they were often horrible, it was PMS that drove me to the brink. One day they’ll think back on these occasions fondly. Memories of our crazy household will be the stuff we laugh together about; it will be what they think back on when they’re at the breaking point with their own families.
I can’t be a perfect mother. I’m flawed and my kids are annoying. And we’re all good enough.