Today is the first day of April vacation. I woke up to the crash of thunder outside my window, and lay in bed listening to sheets of rain hit the glass. I love a good thunderstorm. It was still dark. I grabbed a candle and a cup of coffee and headed toward the couch near the window in my living room. My dog is scared of thunder, so she curled up next to me with her muzzle in my lap. As I sat there, enjoying the lightning flashes, my youngest wandered down the stairs. “Did you hear that!?” he marveled, with a glint in his eyes. He loves storms as much as I do.
So I sat on the couch. I cuddled my kid and sipped my coffee and pet my dog and watched the rain come down in sheets and the lightning crack across the sky. I listened to the thunder crash and I appreciated my son’s wonder.
It was a good moment.
Sometimes, a day will start with one of those good moments and just keep on going. Those are the days when I feel like I’m nailing it. The days when I feel like a good parent and a good teacher and a good friend; the days when I manage to sneak in a little self-care and balance all of the roles.
Sometimes, it’s exactly the opposite. You know those days, right? The days when nothing goes right and you feel like a failure across the board? Those are the days when you wish for a do-over and you hope you haven’t lost your job or traumatized your children.
But really, most days are just in-between. Most days are an assortment of successes and failures; moments of beauty and moments of pain; a little bit of peace and a little bit of chaos. Satisfaction and disappointment. Laughter and tears.
I’ve been trying to get better at something. I’m trying to recover more quickly when things go sideways. I’m trying to ensure that a bad moment doesn’t turn into a bad day. I’m not great at it, but I’m getting better.
I guess I see myself as a pretty typical mom. I yell sometimes. And I laugh sometimes. We play games and we also do laundry. We get the homework done and we have dance parties in the kitchen. I think we have a reasonable balance.
But I was visiting with family recently. This is my side of the family; the family we don’t see nearly often enough. The little one forgot to take his ADHD medicine, so he was bouncing off the walls. The older two were being ultra-sullen teenagers, and I was shooting them warning glances across the table. I guess none of us was at our best, when I really think about it.
In that moment, my sister decided to reprimand me for reprimanding my son. In front of everyone, she asked, “Why are you so mean to him?” And then the whole family jumped in on it. I’m too angry. I’m always yelling. My kids have jokingly called me ‘the dream crusher’ for years; it’s always felt affectionate. On that day, it just hurt.
I wanted to respond. I wanted to defend myself. What about the trips to the museum? The puzzles and the tents in the backyard and the ice cream for dinner? What about all the times I run to the store for posterboard at 8pm? All the birthday parties and nighttime cuddles and tickle wars?
But I didn’t want to draw attention to how much the whole thing upset me. I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t want to drag it out. I don’t see my family that often. I wanted to enjoy the day. We had plans to do something fun, and I had been looking forward to it for weeks. So I wanted to figure out how to take that crappy moment and put it behind me.
I tried. I’m not sure I succeeded. We took some photos, but the teenagers continued to be sullen. The bouncy one continued to bounce. We went to an animation museum. It was a little mom-and-pop shop open by appointment only, and it was a bit of a risk because we weren’t quite sure what we were in for. But I loved it. The presentation was great and it was perfect for the kids and still interesting for the adults. I was still worried that the bouncy one was going to break something, but I tried to redirect him with a smile. The older two continued to sulk, but I tried to find out why and they both explained that they weren’t feeling well. I shared my water bottle and tried to have a bit more compassion… and I think the day got at least a little better.
But it’s hard. It’s hard to feel angry or hurt or frustrated… and then just let it go. And I guess it depends, right? Is it a thing you CAN just let go? Is it a thing that needs to be discussed? Because there’s a difference between burying something and letting it go. I think, on that day, I didn’t really let it go. I just buried it. Because when I think back on it, it still smarts a little.
Here’s another example.
We had to leave early for church, because three of the four of us were playing in the bell choir. I gave everyone a warning the night before. I made sure they were awake. I prompted them through showers and breakfast. I gave everyone the five-minute warning. And then I announced that it was time to go. The oldest responded, “I’m not ready!” When I asked how long she would need, I got attitude. She responded with the words, “I don’t know,” but her tonesaid, “What a stupid question. How would I know?” I asked, “Can you give me an estimate? Should I just leave without you?” Her response was, “Sure.” But imagine that ‘sure’ laced with a little ‘I’m happy to miss church because I hate it and you’re being a witch.’
So we left without her. But there was NO WAY I was going to let her get away with skipping church. I texted. “Find a way to get here. It will take you 20 minutes to walk or 10 minutes to ride your bike.” No response.
She got there. She didn’t walk or ride her bike, but she called a friend and got a ride and showed up in time. I was on the other side of the sanctuary setting up the bells. She didn’t look at me. No eye contact. She was angry. I was angry. And I had to talk myself through it. I had to make a choice.
I could continue to be angry. I could sulk and ignore her, too. Or I could move on and try not to let it ruin the day. So I decided on the latter. I thanked her for getting there. She was obviously still unhappy with me, but I think she was expecting me to be angry, too. When I wasn’t… it was like it gave us both permission to move on. Within a few minutes, we were back to normal. She asked to drive on the way home. We went shopping. We went out for ice cream. It actually turned out to be a lovely day.
In that case, I think I actually let it go. I wasn’t angry anymore. And I was never really hurt. Once I made up my mind that it was over, it could actually be over.
I’m still learning. Every day, I try to hold on to the beautiful moments and I’m trying to navigate the tough moments with a little more grace. I’m trying to do a little more ‘hugging it out.’ I’m trying to do a little less burying my feelings and a little more apologizing and explaining and moving on. I’m working on being clear and consistent about my own boundaries, and I’m trying to listen a little bit better. I’m trying not to let a crappy moment turn in to a crappy day. Sometimes I succeed. And sometimes I don’t.
The storm is over. The sky is brightening a bit, and I’m on my second cup of coffee. Storm watching has turned into screen-watching as I type and Cal plays Minecraft. But the candle is still burning and the dog is still at my feet and I’m hopeful that today is going to be one of the good ones. And if it’s not? Well, that’s okay. Because an ordinary day can be beautiful, too.