Lightbulb

Today I had a pretty big breakthrough in my life as a parent. It had been a slightly-worse-than-average day. All three kids didn't sleep very well last night. Due to all of our guests, I had put Ava on a spare mattress in Molly's room and had Jocelyn sleep on Ben's side of the bed since he is in Virginia Beach for his Navy Reserve weekend. I made the mistake of not telling them there would be different sleeping arrangements until just before bedtime, so they were all worked up and didn't get to sleep until much later than normal. So while they were far from awful today, they were all overtired and not their best selves. There was some whining, crying for no real reason, overreacting when something didn't go their way.

Often, I find myself telling my daughters, "Please remember, there is one of me and three of you." I usually say this when they all are asking for something, or need help with something, or have stories they must all share at once. I say it even more often on these weekends when I am essentially single-parenting and know that I will not be getting my evening relief and back-up from Ben. But this afternoon, I suddenly had the thought: there is only ONE of me. And at this point, I am the ONE who my children tell their stories to. My kids play together, but they're not old enough to be telling stories and sharing their days with each other. I am the only one who will listen to them talk about the silly thing they did in music, or the new move they learned in dance class. I am the ONE who can answer why there are white lines on the road, or why a car somewhere honked. My children need an adult to talk to them and answer their questions, and the vast majority of the time that adult is me. Just because I am tired of hearing my name called hundreds of times each day doesn't mean that they don't deserve to have their inane stories heard and senseless questions answered.

Example: Over the last 3 weeks or so, I have been working with the girls on taking turns talking to me while we are in the car. Once we are in the car and I am a captive audience, everyone has things to tell me. I will say, "Jocelyn, Ava said my name first, so I am going to talk to her now and then it will be your turn." I talk to Ava, then say "Okay Jocie, now it's your turn." (Or vice versa) Every time Molly will wait for the second person to finish their conversation, then shout "My turn Momma! My turn!" I say, "Yes, Molly?" And EVERY time, Molly replies with "My leg hurts." I repeat back to her: "Your leg hurts?" "Yeah." I tell her I'm very sorry to hear that, and she nods her head satisfactorily and returns to looking out the window. The bottom line is that while she doesn't have anything important to tell me, Molly has watched me give my undivided attention to each of her sisters and wants her fair share. Once she is satisfied she has had her moment, artificial though it may be, she is content and goes about her business. I have taken from this just how important it is to give my kids their due attention.

I end today with a renewed purpose as a mom. I am going to try to be more patient with my kids not because it's the nice thing to do, but because right now my kids need a mom who will truly listen and respond to them. It is darn near impossible to imagine now, but there will come a time when my kids won't want to talk to me at all, when I will be the one desperately trying to get them to respond to me. I will want them to humor me and communicate with me even when they are tired and not in the mood. It only seems fair that I lead by example.