A Less Frizzy February

I like to torture myself by playing back the things I have said to my kids. I lie in bed at night and run through my one-woman rage production:

It’s not time to wake up—no. You need to get some more rest...Well then just lie there with your eyes closed! 

Do NOT give that dog Cheerios!

Stop rubbing your hand in that!

Are you kidding me? Hold your cup up and down! You spilled everywhere!

You want it open? Okay, bring it here. Closed? Here, please. Open? <grumble> Seriously?! Nope. Putting this away now.

NO! We are going to paint! It is going to be fun. God! Why are you whining?! YOU wanted to paint!

No. NO! Stop trying to run over your fur-sister!

Sit on your fanny! Sit! DOWN!

Monkey! Knock.It.Off. You are just looking for a reason to cry. Stop crying!

Eat! Stop talking—just eat. Please. EAT!

Please, Sassafrass, stop turning on your toys and walking away! Too loud!

Sit up! Stop pushing back!

Please! Mom just needs a minute! A minute!

Take a deep breath. CALM DOWN!

<banging on kitchen window> STOP! Did you just eat poo?! (Don’t worry--that’s directed at one of the four-legged children.)

I’ve never been into the sappy, sentimental love. I prefer romantic comedies with a bit of angst and slapstick to sweeping sagas with sinking-ships and bared souls. As a control freak, I wrote our wedding vows and poured over books and poems looking for quotes and readings that balanced the romance of marriage with my less-than-flowery worldview. My favorite was from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: “Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” Not the least bit fluffy—lovingly pragmatic I’d like to say.

In my family, Thanksgiving is a time to eat good food and drink bourbon slushies.  We have never gone around the table and shared what we’re grateful for. Thanksgiving’s proximity to Christmas causes me to ratchet up for the holidays instead of pausing to reflect. Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t unzipping our pants and picking our teeth with turkey cartilage, we’re just enjoying each other’s company without actually voicing how thankful we are for it.

Growing up, Valentine’s Day was always a welcome break in the slushy Ohio winter. I always disliked February: the high of the holidays had completely worn off and the promise of warm weather was too distant. I looked forward to Valentine’s Day because my mom would always have a wrapped gift waiting for us on our chair at breakfast.  It wasn’t the gift that mattered so much; it was my mom’s attention to what would brighten my gloomy month. A new sweatshirt in third grade to boost a pilled wardrobe that needed to stretch for another few months. A new set of Lip Smackers in seventh grade to refresh my dwindling collection gathering lint in my backpack. Bags of homemade cookies sent every year to my college mailbox. Thoughtful, practical gifts to show us we were loved…but no teary proclamations.

I decided this year, that I am going to start a new tradition for myself. This isn’t a Pinterest tradition that necessitates cream of tartar or Xanthum Gum, but rather a day to flip my daily script. I am going to take this holiday of love and inject a little grateful-turkey-talk. My mom used Valentine’s Day to give me a boost during the gray winters, and I want to try to do the same for myself.

So many days I review my “mom script,” and I am not proud of what comes out of my mouth. I wince when I relive some interactions with my kids, and I feel like it’s worse in the wintertime. We are trapped indoors and growing weary of our confines.

I read somewhere that parents should speak to their kids like they are being filmed and someone else is going to see the footage. Well, I would rather eat the stuff I wipe out of restaurant high chairs than be forced to see video of my cranky and snarky fits. I’ve caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror a few times when yelling at Monkey about not unrolling the toilet paper all over the floor—not pretty. Does screaming at my kids make my hair frizz or is it always that bad?

So, ­instead of beating myself up about the nagging and snapping and squawking, I am going to replay the sweet things my kids do this February 14th. Even on our worst days, one of them will do something that makes me want to cry with joy/take a picture/ hug them until they are flailing for freedom. When I obsess over my mistakes, I can forget those little things.

Mom- we da best family.

Awwwww <as Sassafras nuzzles one of our exceedingly-patient Labs>

Mom, Handy Manny would say this dinner deliciso! (After he’s gagged over the mushrooms.)

My spunky little girl looking me square in the eye and beaming while she puts a soggy Teddy Graham in my mouth—gifting me one of her most prized possessions.

We havin’ a good day mom. (Even when we most definitely are not.)

My sweet daughter flirting with me in Target, daring me to tickle her in that spot under her jaw that makes her squeal and crumple into a ball.

Awwww, Sass, you juss needa take a deep breath.  It’s okay sister--we almost home.

My dogs leaping on Monkey’s bed at the end of the night for story time…and the poo-breath is barely noticeable.

Yes, I think I see my hair smoothing already...

-Elizabeth