I have a houseful of kids.
I love having a houseful of kids.
I don’t mind the noise. I don’t mind the sound of running upstairs.
I actually love it.
I love the kids.
There are a handful of kids that have my heart.
Other than my own.
There are girls that I have watched grow up into teenagers.
Little boys that run after girls now instead of lizards.
I love every moment of it.
These are the kids that I know will be lifelong friends with my kids.
I know I will be at their weddings and I will hold their babies.
I would do anything for these kids.
I would do anything for mine.
I was always the fun one. The mom that you could tell anything too.
Sometimes a pushover. I was the one that stuck up for the kids.
When Dad was too hard on them, they came to me.
Take Dad out of the picture though and what does that leave?
A too nice mom.
A mom that now has to play the part of both mom and dad.
The older kids get it. They test me. They push me to my limits.
But they know how hard this is for me.
They know I would much rather laugh and have fun with them than say no.
They are old enough to know that I hate being mean.
I hate being the one to tell them no.
I hate watching them cry because I put my foot down.
But no one else is going to do it.
My baby was an angel. He was so sweet. So loving.
He always wanted hugs and to cuddle.
He had perfect manners.
That was before the split.
After the split? Totally different.
He pushes me to the point of pure exhaustion. He doesn’t listen. He acts out.
He can be so rude. There are some nights I just want to cry.
What happened to my baby? Where did this mean little boy come from?
Other days, sweet as pie.
I know it’s because he is still pushing his limits.
He is testing me.
He thinks he can act however he wants and then he can turn on the sweetness and all is forgiven.
I know it’s my job to keep him in line.
Get him back on track.
I have to be honest though, I hate it.
When I hear him say “Mom is so mean”, nothing hurts worse.
I sincerely hate it.
I have guilt. I hate taking things from him.
I let his dad leave.
I know that isn’t the case. Not really.
But that’s how it feels sometimes.
Poor baby, his dad isn’t around….
I don’t like yelling.
I hate it.
When I say pick that up and it doesn’t get done; no one comes behind me and backs me up.
No one says “do what mom said.”
So I ask again.
Then I yell.
Some days I feel like the Wicked Witch.
I feel like all I do is say use your manners don’t run, don’t hit him, clean that up, do your homework.
Nag, nag, nag. Order them around. Over and over and over again.
I love my kids so much.
I know that I have to be like this with them.
Especially my baby.
I have to be tough.
I have too.
One day he will be bigger than me and if I don’t have it under control by then it will be so much worse.
I know it’s my job to be tough when I need to be.
I am raising these kids to go out into the world one day.
Other people will have to deal with them.
I want nothing more than to raise hard working, loving, polite, respectful children.
That means being their mom and their dad sometimes.
That means being stern. Not giving in.
It means making sure they know I love them.
Hugging and talking.
Saying no when I need too. Yes when I can.
Tomorrow I am making him sit by me at the softball fields all day.
He doesn’t get to have fun with his brother and best friend.
He is sitting right next to me crying right now.
Mom is so mean.
If you would have listened earlier…..