I don’t know if you all know this… but sometimes parenting is hard. Actually I am not even sure what I am doing is considered parenting or more of like toddler-wrangling.
I was Twin Cities bound with my two-year-old strapped in the car seat surrounded by snacks and toys and a tablet in hand. I crossed my fingers and hoped he would be content for the 1.5 hour drive. But I knew better. By the time we hit Zumbrota he was whining and pulling on the car seat straps. I kept trying to make eye contact with him in the rear view mirror but he just started to scream more.
“Look, tractor!” I would shout and point excitedly because I know how much he loves anything motorized. Well that didn’t do it. Instead he screamed louder. I tried multiple times to stretch my arm behind my seat and feel around on the floor for a toy he might have dropped. Instead I swerve just enough to startle myself. Apparently my arms are not as long as my husband’s and I can’t do two different tasks at the same time with my hands.
So frustrated and keeping an eye on the clock, I pulled into a gas station parking lot. We played the guessing game for a few minutes. “Do you want your truck? Do you want cookies? Do you want more water?” After making him comfortable again, I hit the gas and made my way north on highway 52.
This same scenario played out a few more times. By the time we pulled into my family’s driveway I felt so defeated. I couldn’t tell if I need to scream or sit in a quiet corner for a bit. My sister quickly sensed my terrible mood and went into full auntie mode. (What an amazing human being!)
Then my parents show up, Lita & Lito (shortened versions of the Spanish words for grandparents, Abuelita & Abuelito) with so much energy and excitement. They quickly can see the stressed out mother and the crabby toddler.
He screams, he whines, he runs, he pulls, he kicks, he spills, he continues to test all my patience.
My parents with looks of shock on their faces tell me repeatedly, “He never acts like this when he is with us”. My rage continues to boil. I can feel my face starting to sweat, my fists begin to clench (like that popular Arthur meme) and I can feel my body contort and transform back into my teenage self.
My parents are wrong, I am constantly annoyed by everyone and everything, and everyone is out to get me. “Mooooooommmmmmm, stop!” I shout at my mother while she tries to correct my son. I hate the person I turn into when revert to my adolescent ways. I am normally so calm and collected. What is happening to me?
I need to somehow figure out how to be both a daughter and mother in the same space. How do I receive directive and caring words from my parents without shutting down? And how do I be confident and dependable for my son at the same time? So far, it feels like a losing battle.
How do YOU navigate these waters?
After cooling down, eating some food, and letting my sister help me, my body and mind soon transform back into my happy and sane self. My son makes me smile and does adorable things, my parents tell me about their next adventures, and I try to remind myself that I am a good mother AND daughter.
When it’s time to make the drive back to Rochester I am dreading it but also know I can survive it. Once again, I surround my son with his snacks, toys, and tablet. This time, I sing along to my throw-back playlist of all the songs I loved when I was a teenager. Jammed packed with the best hits from Britney Spears, N’Sync, and Destiny’s Child. Oh baby child, you don’t even know your mommy’s amazing ability to recall these lyrics.
This time I am able to breathe and drown out the cries. He is ok. I am ok. We will be ok.
“Wook! Tractor!” He shouts and points out the window. That’s my boy.
