Three Strikes, I'm Out!!!

STRIKE ONE. . . . .

A few weeks ago, my son was having a problem with his Math. On an average day, I spend about 15 minutes with him actually teaching the new concept in Math. The time is so little mostly because he gets the concepts so fast. After my teaching time, he has 30 Math problems that he completes on his own. Most days, he gets about 5 or so wrong and we go over the reason for his mistakes and fix them together. That day a few weeks ago, he was having what my husband and I have come to call 'a bonehead day'. This is the kind of day that we as teachers feel like beating our heads up against a brick wall because it would be much easier than teaching our son. This is the kind of day where he makes Math much harder than it is and can't compute simple problems. On that day, when I checked those 30 independent problems, he got at least 15 of them wrong. I could tell even before I looked over them that the problem wasn't comprehension, it was his computation, it was his desire to speed through his work just to get it done. Sounds like someone else I knew during her school years. Yes, I was the same way and it drove my dad nuts. I still remember the looks of disappointment he would give me after having 'bonehead days' myself. So, I do have sympathy for my boy but it still didn't excuse his sloppy Math work. His lack of concentration infuriated me that day. As I checked each one wrong, I could feel my anger rising with each new mark on his paper. And what bothered me the most was that I couldn't control it. I have a temper, I always have. My father is Italian, go figure. But ever since Jake was born, I have had daily lessons in patience. And I think I'm doing very well, thank you very much. But I do have days and that day was one of them. Not only could I not control my boiling frustration, I also verbalized it to him. Verbalized it to the point that I made him cry. And you would think that watching him get that upset would stop me - it didn't. That little voice inside kept telling me to stop but I kept going until he was bawling. Yes, I admit that was awful to do to him. And there is no excuse for that. It came to a point that my maternal instinct took over my anger and I regained composure, apologize for making him cry and gave him a big embrace.

STRIKE TWO. . . . .

Last week, my youngest daughter came to me complaining of a toothache. It started at breakfast while she was eating her meal. Since waffle sticks and syrup were on the menu, I was pretty confident that she was trying to get out of eating her breakfast. Why she doesn't like that meal, I just don't know. So, as usual, we started school without her. She participated in our family devotions from the breakfast table and we went along our merry way doing our schoolwork. Once she actually did finish, she still complained about her tooth. I told her to go upstairs and brush her teeth and that should take care of it. I didn't hear anything more until after lunch. I did actually look in her mouth and saw nothing amidst the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had just consumed. I told myself that I would brush her teeth and actually take a good look later. Later didn't happen until bedtime when I actually took the time to brush her teeth and take a look at the lower back molar that she had been complaining about. When I looked I was shocked and ashamed, overwhelming feelings of guilt washed over me. Her tooth had looked like it had pieces that had cracked off and also had big brown spots on it. Not only did I feel guilty because I had brushed it off (Did I make a puny??) but also because at least one teeth brushing out of the day (we do it after breakfast and before bed) was either performed by one of the older kids or by my youngest daughter herself. And there are even days that I don't brush her teeth and she does it both times all by herself!!! Could this rotten tooth be because of neglect on my part?? All I could do was shake my head. And, of course, this was Friday. If I had taken the time early in the morning to actually look or even brush her teeth after her peanut butter and jelly lunch, I could have brought her to the dentist that day. But now, to make my guilty complex worse, she had to wait until the weekend was over. First thing Monday, I called the dentist for her to be seen. They squeezed her in and off we went. Her diagnosis: her enamel on her tooth didn't form correctly causing the tooth to become extra sensitive and soft making it more susceptible to cavities, which she did have. Culprit: most likely my illnesses during my pregnancy with her or just the simple fact that she is a third child and made of spare parts (know how that feels Em??). So, the dentists reminded me that this was beyond my control. It made me feel a little better but if I had taken the time to brush her teeth twice a day, we might have avoided the cavities. They didn't say that - I formed that hypothesis on my own. But the story gets worse. They had to drill her tooth down to get rid of the soft spots and also get rid of the cavity. In order to do this - nitrous oxide - laughing gas - make my daughter loopy gas- however you want to say it, had to be administered. I had to sign a consent form for them to do that and I started to tear up with memories of her going into surgery to have her adenoids removed. I watched as they put her under and will never forget the look in her eyes before she fell asleep. Talk about guilt. The dentists assured me that she would still be awake just a little sleepy. I signed the consent for her because I knew it would make her more comfortable. I told her what was going to happen and she said, "Just as long as my tooth stops hurting, I don't care momma." And so that attitude followed her to the dentists chair as they reclined her back, gave her some cool sunglasses to shade the bright light they were shining in her face, gave her a big fuzzy pillow to sit on, put what they referred to as her elephant nose on (the continuous nitrous) and drilled for 20-30 minutes as she lay back with her feet crossed at the ankles. No crying, no fussing, no talking, no squirming. She just didn't care. Me on the other hand, watching her go through that, I'm surprised I sat upright through the entire thing.

STRIKE THREE. . . . .

And to top of all those guilty mommy moments of late, here is another one. This morning was a typical school morning by myself. I get up, get ready, get the kids up, help my youngest get dressed and make her bed, do my middle daughters hair, yell at my son to actually get out of bed and then go downstairs to make breakfast. I call them when it's ready, they all come bounding down the steps, we eat breakfast, brush our teeth (now I brush Gab's teeth twice a day) and start school. We start with a devotional, prayer and the pledge to the flag. Then the teaching begins. Today, Jake had a test in Math. I went over the test and left him to take it. During that time, I start with Olivia on Math. For some reason she was having one of Jake's 'bonehead days' and couldn't for the life of her add nickels and dimes together, something she had mastered months ago. Instead, she started complaining, out of the blue, that her ear was hurting. Not only was she complaining, she started crying. Here we go again. You would think that after the last two incidents with my other two children that I would have learned my lesson. Apparently not. I told her she was fine and we kept on working on her money problems to which she continued to get all her problems wrong and continued to cry about her ear. I guess it's because of my daughters' tendency to overexaggerate and overdramatize most anything that I really didn't give a second thought to her behavior. I did touch her head to make sure she wasn't running a fever and she wasn't. Once again, I had that little voice in the back of my head telling me to slow down and evaluate what was happening here but me being me and my ability to 'shoot from the hip', I continued to press on with her Math and ignore the tears, the puffy eyes and that look that Olivia gets only when she really is sick. Finally, I had had enough and sent her to her room. If she wasn't feeling well, then she should just lay down. And I didn't send her up there to feel better, I sent her up there to punish her for being overly dramatic. I sent her up there because I couldn't control what was going on and get her to concentrate on her studies and ignore whatever imaginary ear pain that was bothering her. Yeah, I know, by now I sound like a real awful mom. After about another 30 minutes of the bawling, I gave her a dose of Tylenol just in case there really was something wrong. And after another 20 minutes after that, my maternal instinct voice took over and I called the doctor who would be able to see her immediately. We rushed over there, got right in, and within another 20 minutes found out that she indeed did have an ear infection. And right then at that very moment, I returned to motherhood as I evaluated all the signs that were right in front of my face - she had had a bad runny nose and cough just days before that I know full well has the potential, if it lingers, to put pressure on the ears causing an infection. And that is just a medical sign. I should have been able to look in her eyes and know her sick eyes, to know that she only gets that upset when she really is sick. I could have kicked myself again.

I'M OUT!!

These guilty mommy moments have not knocked me down. They have only reminded me that I am not perfect. It try to be, I really do but sometimes the stress of life just gets to me and I can't think straight. If anything, these incidents over the last few weeks have kept me in check. To control my temper because now my son is old enough to really be hurt by my outbursts and to remember them. To take a moment during my busy day to take care of the reason I exist at this time in my life - to be everything for my kids. And to listen to the signs - to realize that each child is different, with their own needs and their own way of handling them. Tomorrow will be a better day.