Dented

I have so many good days that I feel guilty about venting twice in a week - it makes my life seem bleak (I am choking back an obscure quote from Auntie Mame. There may only be 13 people left in America who quote that movie - five of them are in my family and none of them follow the blog so .... I'll spare you.) My life is anything but bleak. I just need an outlet.

My children are normally wonderful when I take them visiting teaching (a thing we do in my church where two women from a congregation keep an eye on other women in the congregation and take them a monthly spiritual message.) Today, my cherubs sprouted horns and tails.

I am embarrassed to say that I gave one of my children the "mom finger" in front of my visiting teaching partner. No, it's not the naughty finger, it's the index finger, pointed in a way that says "Get in line bucko, or lighting will come out of my finger and strike you down." The mom finger is usually backed up by a look that would have given Ghenghis Kahn pause.

So, the morning was terrible and then it got worse. Being the mature adult that I am buried myself in meaningless television (thank you Ellen re-runs, The Voice, and Hulu in general) and augmented my t.v. therapy with chocolate chips and more cinnamon toast than I will publicly admit to. Honestly, I do respond maturely to life's problem sometimes, but mature, considered responses are not that interesting to write about. Therefore, you get the dented version of my life which, if not statistically accurate, is honest.

For the sake of argument, I'm willing to try writing an imaginary healthy response to the trials of motherhood. Ahem, here it goes: "Today child #1 buried a family heirloom in the backyard. I breathed deeply, told her I loved her more than (insert priceless object) and worked out my frustration by polishing the bathroom taps."

Ack. Choke. Splutter. I have had moments of deep composure and perspective. I love being that person. I just don't want to read about her. In fact, today, I would probably strangle her.

I need a place where I can admit to being dented and even occasionally talk about being broken. There is comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this battle. And that just maybe, other moms somewhere have given their children "the mom finger" in public.

Here's to tomorrow.