Steps to Progression

I think it's inevitable that after having a victorious parenting day, the next day is going to be awful.  At least, it seems inevitable to me.  Monday was so amazing!  I finally felt that I had made some huge strides in relaxing and not being such a control freak.  I felt an overwhelming sense of what was most important.  I talked Brad's ear off that night, telling him what a wonderful day it was and how I felt heavenly help to handle things so differently than I normally would.

And then came yesterday.  I spent the morning at home and got a lot of cleaning done.  I finally mopped the wood floors and they looked so shiny and beautiful.  Every time I walked in the dining room and kitchen, I felt so happy seeing those shiny floors.  I felt proud of my hard work.

I had just finished unloading the groceries when the kids got home from school.  I took Amalie out Christmas shopping and we got home with barely enough time to make dinner.  I had promised the kids they could roll out the sugar cookie dough and bake the cookies and then decorate them that night.  Noah wanted to make sure it happened before it was too late, so I got him set up at the counter opposite the one I was using with some flour, a rolling pin and the dough.  The first few minutes were so lovely.  My kitchen is now big enough that I could make dinner on one side and the kids could work on the other side.  We weren't on top of each other, like in our old kitchen. And then the fighting began.  Both Amalie and Gabe were trying to help roll out the dough, whining and complaining and trying to stick cookie cutters in when Noah wasn't finished rolling.  Noah's enthusiastic rolling led to the decorating candies flying off the counter. Gabe scampered down to start cleaning them up with his mouth, while Amalie shrieked that Gabe was eating all the candies.  Noah called me over to see that even though I had poured out an immense amount of flour on the counter, that most of it was now on the newly cleaned floor and the chairs and there was hardly any left on the counter, which meant the cookie dough was nicely stuck to the counter.  I quickly gave him more flour, only to notice my new expensive flour container precariously half off the counter (due to enthusiastic rolling!) and set them up yet again.  I noticed that the children had been tracking the cookie dough and flour around the dining room as well. 

Holding my breath in, I returned to dinner, only to find that my things were cooking much quicker than I expected (still getting used to how quickly my gas stove cooks things as opposed to my old electric) and was trying to get some utensils and things to stir before my sauce burned, but the drawers and dishwasher were  blocked by the cookie making crew.

I was starving, and Amalie and Gabe were again whining that they wanted to roll out the dough, and Brad called to say he was coming home.  

I was trying really hard not to scream.  I just wanted to make dinner and why (!) did they have to fight over making cookies?  We finally got some cookies in the oven.  By the time Brad got home, dinner was ready and I herded everyone to the table, telling them after we ate dinner (all of it, meaning the salad I had purposely put on their plates) and they cleaned up the cookie dough explosion, THEN we could decorate cookies.

I'd tried so hard to be "fun mom" and had even bought some Christmas candies at Winco so they could put some on their cookies.  Before we could even say the prayer, Noah scarfed down his cheese tortellini, ignored his salad and took off.  Gabe complained loudly at the dinner table about how disgusting his salad was, to which I responded with a "You're welcome to keep complaining in your bedroom," which he didn't really get.  Eventually, he took off and sat on the couch, telling me what a mean mama I was, while playing with his stuffed animals, his salad sitting lonely on his plate.

I'd had it.  I'd made a delicious dinner, and I was trying to keep my kids healthy and be fun mom and let them do cookie decorating and all they could do was fight and complain and make a mess.  I was so done with the night and on top of that, Brad had come home feeling stressed out as well.  (How dare he!  It was my night to be stressed.) I felt guilty because I knew he had more to be stressed out than me- my problems were not really problems and I felt stupider that I was so stressed about trivial things, but no amount of realization could drive away the stress at that moment.  Finally, I went upstairs, after stuffing a few pieces of chocolate in my mouth and telling the children to come and get me when they were done cleaning.  I laid down to read a book, trying to get my head out of the daily annoyances.  The kids came up telling me that they had cleaned up, then proceeded to argue about who had done more cleaning.  I asked if they had cleaned up the floor, (which they hadn't), which started the arguing all over again about who should do it.  I asked them to please leave and go argue somewhere else as I was trying to calm down so I wouldn't yell and scream at them. I reminded them if they were not done by a certain time it would be too late to make cookies and we would instead have to get ready for bed.  The point was taken and several minutes later they asked me to check their work.  They had done a pretty good job of cleaning up about 85% of the mess, so I got them to finish while I quickly made some icing.  Gabe came down, really wanting to make cookies, so I gave him his dinner plate, he quickly ate it and then I had him clean up the dining room table. 

Remembering all the fighting that had occurred over rolling out the dough and using the cookie cutters, I divvied out frosting and candies for each person to use, made sure the kids had what they needed and headed back upstairs. 

I did realize however, that even though I had been stressed out of my mind, I had (overall) handled things better than in the past.  While I did get upset, I also more quickly removed myself from the situation, in the past I would feel obligated to stay (for whatever reason, to clean the kitchen, to make sure they did what they were supposed to or whatnot) I also let them do the cookie rolling on their own, when in the past, I would not have done so, feeling they did it too imperfectly and I could do it better.  I also would have stepped in when they started getting frustrated and just taken over, instead of letting them work through it.  I also would have demanded that they clean up within a certain time frame and badgered them the entire time, instead of leaving them and letting them make the choice.

So, while I'm not proud or happy that I got upset at such trivial things, there certainly was some progress in there.  I also need to realize that since I had gone grocery shopping, taken Amalie Christmas shopping, was hungry and tired (and pregnant!), I needed to give myself a break.  Cookie making was just too much for me that night and I should have admitted it and adjusted. (Still working on that whole "rolling with the punches" thing.)

But I did feel it was a blessing that I was able to recognize that I walked away from the situation to cool down, before I got too angry.  Another comforting thing I read was in the Lorenzo Snow manual at the beginning of the year that talked about becoming perfect.  This quote hit me so powerfully:

"If the husband can live with his wife one day without quarrelling or without treating anyone unkindly or without grieving the Spirit of God in any way, that is well so far; he is so far perfect. Then let him try to be the same the next day. But supposing he should fail in this his next day’s attempt, that is no reason why he should not succeed in doing so the third day. …"

In the past, if I had a great day and then followed a bad day, I would feel so discouraged, thinking that I would never overcome that particular weakness.  Ever since hearing this quote, I have come to realize that it is simply the nature of life- since there is opposition in all things, if you have a great day in overcoming a weakness, then most likely the next day will be really tough.  At least that is the pattern I have seen in mine own life.  But even more so, I have realized that even in those tough days, I haven't backtracked in general- I have just been worse than the day prior.  Almost always, if I look for it, I can see progress.  It's that hope of still being able to do better on the third day that keeps me going.

I feel so grateful for that perspective.  It helps me to see that my persistent efforts will eventually succeed.  With repentance, I can start over each new day and eventually the day will come when I have greatly overcome these weaknesses. I fall short often, of course, but there is progress, and that is enough.