The Blog Post That Almost Never Was

In my mind I see those couple friends, who've been on the receiving end of my vent-sessions one too many times, shaking their heads. Oh no, they think, there she goes again! I knew it wouldn't be long before it happened. I'm sorry, m'dears, I never intended to pull the crazy out so soon.

I'm going to try my hardest to keep my posts positive, to shine a light on the uplifting parts of life, and to not bring anyone down. Especially to not shame my loved ones. However, we all know that many parts of life are very far from uplifting and can be downright ugly. After all, there is no glory without the fight, right? Oftentimes the conflict in my own mind rivals that of a Jerry Springer show and is more depressing than Dr. Phil.

All this can be brought on by something as simple as a statement. Something like, oh...I don't know... "It's a great day to go golfing!" or "Remember I have bowling league tonight?" 

An involuntary "humph" escapes me, and I cringe, hoping it wasn't heard.

I don't think anyone can quite understand this like stay-at-home mamas, because for the most part, that's what we do. We stay at home. I so admire those beautiful souls who never seem bitter about the fun things their spouses get to do, who encourage get-aways and luxury time. I pray for the grace not to be resentful. I try really really hard not to be resentful, and the truth is, I really want him to go have fun. I'm happy when he gets to do something he enjoys, that relaxes him, that makes him feel like a whole person again. And I'm very sorry for poorly controlled comments, humphs, and eye rolls. My life really is easier when he's not stressed out. But it never comes without that slap-in-the-face feeling for me, the bitter resentment and self-pity, the ugly thoughts. "Why can't I go? Why do I have to be stuck here again? I need a break too!"

I do need a break. Every parent needs time to recover from their days, time to breathe after being clung to all day by sticky little fingers, quiet time to think after the constant chatter of the day. Finding the balance in all this is the tricky part. What works for one family will not work for another. Just because one mom gets regular pampered time doesn't mean it's right for me. We all have been given different temperaments, different strengths. I've found that when I am able to get away (it does happen occasionally) being gone all day has the same restorative effects for me as being gone just a couple hours. Babysitters get expensive when you have four kids, and frankly, are hard to find, especially last minute. And many times, doing something wholesome or educational with my boys is more rewarding than a me-centered outing. Plus, I get to bypass all the guilt associated with it. They really are walking around with pieces of my heart. Being there for them is what is required of me at this point in my life. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

I take a lot of my inspiration from a mom friend who has been through the "trenches" and emerged on the other side with her sanity intact. She has always been there to give me an encouraging word or sound advice. While this will never trump what my own mama has done for me, it deserves recognition. When I first became a mother she sent me a note with the advice to do something for myself every day. This was coming from the selfless lady who made rosaries for people on the way to Mass? I'll admit I was shocked. It sounded selfish! Weren't mothers supposed to be sacrificial? Doting? Selfless? How little I knew as a new mom. I started thinking back on what I had seen of this experienced mom's life. How she always seemed at peace, never complaining though her husband was often gone for work. She had more on her plate than many moms, with a large family to care for. I recalled bath time, when she settled down next to the tub with a book while three little ones splashed in the soapy water. It was then that it hit me: She was doing something for herself! It doesn't have to be something big or extravagant, just something.

He loads his golf clubs into the car. "MOM!" I hear yelled from the other room. "Baby pooped on the floor!" I take a deep breath as I grab the scrub pail and disinfectant. Freedom will come in time, when this season of my life is over. I will miss these years. But until then, I will relish every second I sit with my baby as he takes his naps, WITHOUT GUILT, and I will pick up where I left off later. And I will be slightly more sane than when I sat down, on the other side.