This morning was one of those mornings. From the minute the alarm clock beep-beep-beeped me awake, I felt cranky and frustrated. The boys slept late, and after the long four-day weekend, we all struggled with to get back into our school-day routine. We raced through teeth-brushing and lunch-packing. Breakfast was to be a bowl of dry cereal in the car, which spilled all over the floor just as we were walking out the door.
So yeah, it was one of those mornings.
Do you know the ones I’m talking about? There is nothing really wrong, no major calamity. In the grand scheme of things, life is good and all is well. And yet, you feel off. Cranky. Frustrated. Down and out. Maybe you had a stupid fight with your significant other over something silly that you can’t even remember anymore. Maybe you’re in the midst of a tough work project. Maybe someone left an annoying comment on your Facebook page. Maybe you’re tired or hungry or hormonal. Maybe you just can’t handle hearing, “Mom, can you wipe my butt?” or “Mom, he’s touching me!”or “Mom, there’s dog poop in the living room,” one more freaking time.
Whatever the reason, I suspect we all have those mornings, those days, those weeks from time to time. And there is no shortage of advice from psychologists, parenting experts and self-help gurus on we can turn things around. Exercise. Meditate. Slow down. Don’t tell your kids to hurry up; adopt their relaxed pace. Less distractions. Be present. Take deep breaths. Remember that this too shall pass.
This is all great advice. There’s a reason these tips and suggestions are touted so often. They are sound and reasoned. They work.
But you know what? On mornings like today, I don’t really need any more advice about how I should to be less distracted, how I should be more present, how I should meditate or do yoga or what have you, how I shouldn’t tell my kids to hurry the eff up when we’re already late for school. I know what I should do, and I suspect that you do too.
What I need on mornings like this is a little grace, a lot of forgiveness, and someone to tell me I’m not a horrible mom even though I screamed at the kids to get their freaking shoes on so loud that the neighbors heard. What I need is for someone to give some practical advice for a change.
What I need is for someone to tell me it’s OK, that I’m not alone, that we’re all just muddling through sometimes. Here’s the advice that I wish someone would give for dealing with one of those mornings:
– Find a room in your house farthest away from any living person. A bathroom or closet will do. Go to the back corner of your basement if you have to. Whatever room is farthest away from the humans, go there.
– Lock the door.
– Scream every fucking expletive that you can think of. Make up some new ones. Scream them all again for good measure.
– Text a good friend—preferably someone not easily offended by F bombs—and unleash your laundry list of complaints.
– Wallow. Complain. Cry if you want. Mutter a few more obscenities.
– Unlock the door and return to the other humans.
And if that doesn’t work, then, well, I suppose you could try taking a few deep breaths. Meditate. Slow down. Be present. Remind yourself that this too shall pass.
This too shall fucking pass.