Delivery 911, feeling disappointment in your kids

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Oh my gaaawwwd. This afternoon kicked.my.ass. Oliver refused to nap (although at least he did not, bless his heart, attempt to change his own poopy diaper like he did yesterday during "nap" time: "Ol, why does it smell?" "I pooped but don't worry, I changed my diaper by MYself." "Honey, that is great, but where?" "In my room, Mom. There was poop on my stool but I wiped it up." "Oh, can we check your new undies?" YIKES. Into the bath he went.) Anyway, then of course he fell asleep on the way to get Jack at camp and didn't rouse until we got home despite my having moved him out of and back into his carseat. Once home, I placed him tenderly on my nicest couch, and he proceeded to pee - A DELUGE - all over it. Back into the bath.

Jack, meanwhile, was really out of sorts. Picture a small, crazed with fatigue and resultant anger/frustration, eyes a'spinning, preppily dressed, sheriff-badge-wearing, uncoordinated feral animal, and you'll have a sense of his state. He ate about 40 pounds of food, grudgingly got dressed in his Tae Kwon Do attire, and we schlepped back out to class. Despite my stern commands to listen, do your best, respect your teachers and classmates, he managed to get called out three times for various lapses in attention. Was I steamed? Mais, oui. I know he was tired, but at some point in life, you really do have to learn to power through, even for a bit. I can't spend the entirety of each and every day rearranging things to maximize the kids' periods of alertness and avoid their times of tiredness. What in the sam hill will that teach them? That responsibilities are negotiable, pliable, simple suggestions? That is decidedly NOT what I'm going for.

I realized the emergence of something I (and of course all other parents, everyone really) will have to deal with as my kids get older: there are times I'll be disappointed in them. Up until a certain age -I guess about now; J is almost 6- disappointment isn't something you really feel much of, as it relates to your kids' behavior. Egocentric tots get a pass- you expect them to be navel-gazing, selfish little dolls who might embarrass you on occasion. During these years, it's your responsibility to instill in them manners, ethics and so forth, and naturally they'll fail during that learning process (and for a long time; hell, learning and failing are part of the entirety of the life cycle in my opinion), but when they're little, you just sort of expect that. At least I have.

But when you see them moving out of the baby/toddler phase and into an age that is much more cognitively and emotionally able to consider others, make smart decisions and so forth, your expectations of them develop concurrently. You KNOW what your kids are capable of, and you know when they do less than that. Some folks might choose to keep their displeasure inside, worried about deleterious effects on their little one(s) if (s)he hears negative feedback. Others might hit the roof, expressing their frustration in a one-dimensional fashion and thus failing in their duty to make clear that they love the child but not the behavior.

I strive for the middle ground, which is where I attempted to reside on our way home after class today. I was pissed off. And embarrassed. And those two emotions work mightily and negatively on each other. Defenses rise, perspective is blurred, but I made myself look repeatedly in my rearview mirror at my tired, not even 6 year old and took multiple deep breaths. It seemed important to me to express my disappointment but to do so kindly- respecting him, where he was today, acknowledging what a fine young person he truly is but calling him out on the characteristics he  has that won't serve him well, in TKDo but also in life.

I talked, he listened, everyone went to bed early, and tomorrow is a new day. I don't know if what I did was correct, but it felt consistent, fair and right, and that's really the best I think I can do. We, none of us, are perfect by any means, know all the answers by any stretch. But if I can succeed in my kids growing up knowing that they were (are) loved fiercely but that there were very real expectations of behavior, respect and so forth placed upon them, I will feel OK.

Parenting today often seems to be considered as a one-way street: I give, you grow. But doesn't that do both parties a disservice? Might not one end up resentful and the other prodigal? Food for thought, and in the meantime...

Long story short, following all this which followed ricotta, brandied peach and crabvocado tower making, I made a hasty, rather desperate call to Cafe of India, ordered a huge bread basket alongside two lesser important but equally starch-carby items and opened some wine.

Really?, pestos made for freezer, amazing Father's Day dinner planned

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Do y'all know where I am right now? I'm hiding in my bathroom, sitting on the toilet, typing. This is getting old. A beloved sitter just arrived, but tired Jack and just-awake Oliver are scrapping downstairs, and taking turns saying they need me. Am I really so magnetic and alluring? How is a Mommy who went completely ape-shit after 2+ hours of not-s0-fun outings this morning still THE.MUST-HAVE.BEING. onto which the children must glom? Why is there never any reprieve from this "vaunted" status? Tom forgot to put a diaper on O before his nap, so he awoke in a sea of pee which naturally I had to clean up since T left for Home Depot on some man mission. Speaking of this man mission, it has, thus far, involved drilling into the wall and ceiling just above my side of the bed. Did T cover the bed or my night-table? He did not. It doesn't take much in the way of imagination to think about how said side of bed and table look now: not clean. The Grand Relocator, as I call T, also happens to have a penchant for leaving a project after 75%; often the project is completed but the clean-up is seriously lacking, and nothing is put away (hence nickname). I patently refuse to clean any of this up.

I am snark-tastic right now and really not in a good way. You know what makes me crazier than peeling garlic (seriously, why the eff do those papery peelings insist on sticking to the garlic or to you? It drives me to the brink)? Never knowing what the next day of motherhood will bring. It would be so nice to imagine that Tuesday will be just like "_____." But it never is. The variables that might or will change seem infinite, the newly mutated variations of them sometimes wonderful, sometimes the complete antithesis of that. I swear to you some mother invented wine, not some man, as the story surely goes. It was definitely some ancient cave-woman who one day just broke down and out of desperation drank something that she forgot to put away last week because amid the mayhem of child-rearing, gathering food, doing some primordial laundry and so forth, it just slipped her damn mind to seal up the grapes. Well, hats off, Lady Cave. I bet you were thrilled and so the eff am I.

I really need to get to the gym, and that is where I'm headed, but first I will tell you about my food plans for the day, those that have been accomplished and those to come.

In my garden and at the farmers market this morning, the herbs were bounteous. The idea of a store of fresh pesto led me to buy several bunches of basil and sage, and so now in my freezer are decent-sized vats of basil pesto and sage pesto. Gorgeous! Fab! Yum! I grilled some Chinese 5-spice seasoned radicchio for lunch and enjoyed that with some goat cheese, Sungolds from my garden and some super-duper aged balsamic syrup. Delicious. Then I made the mojo sauce in which I'll marinate steaks later for the carne tacos we're having as part of dinner. I'm also going to make an avocado salad with crab and/or lobster dressed with a grapefruit sabayon, and for dessert we're going to indulge in a gorgeous pluot tart topped with dollops of mascarpone-whipped cream. Beyond amazing, yes?

To the treadmill I go.