This is a "keepin' it real" post.
Last week was a horrible week for me. It didn't have anything to do with children or activities or a disaster-level messy house. Maybe it's an approaching-40 thing, but my body rhythms are off by a few days, occurring a few days earlier than expected. Blah. So the tempestuous emotional upheaval that hit me like a tidal wave last week was completely unexpected. I knew I was "off" in a big way. I warned the kids. As young women, they need to know that sometimes it isn't the world falling apart around them: it is just them, having a temporary hormonal imbalance. Last week, I was going to lead the way and be the example of how to handle such an event! Or, at least I was going to try by minimizing my frustrations and giving myself lots of space and wiggle room to cope. And chocolate, definitely chocolate.
I knew if I felt like this every day, I'd have to go on some sort of meds. Luckily, it was an on-and-off 2-3 day thing, and we muddled through.
The worst mommy moment came when the 11yo needed to work on her AWANA. We were already knee-deep in a heavy Essentials writing assignment that overwhelmed me. I was trying, really trying. The youngest one was attacking me (she sees my weaknesses and takes advantage). I was pulled in a million directions. And then came the little voice of my 11yo, "I told you several times already. You need to write me a letter of congratulations." True, she'd told me several times that morning, and I kept forgetting. This last reminder was a tad too snarky in its tone to be accepted well by a hormonally angry 39-year-old at the brink of desperation. I blew up. I went away. I wrote that stinking note.
The writing was more than civil: I kept it nice. I wrote about how proud I was, about how far she'd come, about how hard she had worked to get there. I wrote about the wonderful young lady that she was becoming. But somehow, it doesn't seem like it counts.
This week, she finished her book and I truly am a proud mommy. I'll probably do something for real to congratulate her, and not a phony letter that I was pressured to write by an AWANA book that needed to be finished.
How did it end? We muddled through, and the emotion-wave subsided. It was replaced by low iron, and then I wuggle-headed through the rest of the week, exhausted and mentally incapacitated. I had to work around the fact that my head wasn't working. I wasn't sick, but I was down and out fatigued and not thinking clearly. There were times when I couldn't string a coherent sentence together, as though drunk (sidenote: I've never been drunk before, but I imagine it is much the same). By Thursday, I was getting a headache that lasted until Sunday. It truly was a rotten week.
I guess the silver lining in that week was -
We're all human. We all have weeks in which grace must abound, and forgiveness must be sought repeatedly. We all have days of being disheartened, or physically sick, or in some way not working at full capacity. Hopefully I am teaching my children grace, mercy, and forgiveness in those moments.