Mission Control, Mom Has a Problem



So I'm a control freak. You might not know it by my messy car and easy going attitude with friends, family, and the random stinky public at large. But I am. Why? Because it's my dirty car. It's my funny joke lobbied just at the right time at a tense P.T.A. meeting. It's my decision that day to give, or not give, a quarter to the fat bum on the freeway offramp with the sign, "Will work for A Starbuck's Nonfat Half Cap Cappucino."

Newsflash: With children, they don't do what you want all the time. Hence the fact that I have no control. Hence the other fact that this lack of control gets me really ticked off. Hence thirdly I'm ticked that I can't control my internal anger (and occasional outbursts) at not being able to control my kids.

I mean, really, I've got to let it go sometimes. Does Stink need to go to bed when I say? Yes. But in the morning, when I ask him to put on his socks, and he spends 5 minutes bunny hopping down the stairs with both feet in one socks squealing, "Mommy, I'm a little lost rabbit who can't find my second sock"... well... that I have to chuck up to "He's got a good sense of humor."

But sadly, I don't. And whose fault is that? Certainly not his. I am the one who is forever running behind because I have "one more email" or "one more blog post to publish." 

I am the one who is frustrated that Rex is still in Germany due to that volcano DIE VOLCANO DIE!

I am the one who has unrealistic expectations of what seven year olds are capable of and what they are not.

'm going to talk this week about strategies for discipline. For those of you who have read some great parenting books on the subject, I'd love it.

For those of you who pray, I'm asking for patience.

For those of you without kids or who have survived this insanely frustrating period, a hearty congratulations go out to you. Have some wine on me. But if you're going to drive, like my flaw, CONTROL YOURSELF.

* Pic of my son making "butt prints" from a puddle. During free time in summer? Awesome. When I want to go to Trader Jo's and my house smells like fish oil? Not so much.
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