A Mother's Prayer

I woke up at 6:42 AM according to the bedside alarm clock which I haven’t needed to set since my first child was born over 4 years ago.  I am disoriented from lack of sleep but slowly I start piecing things together.  Gabriel, my 5 month old is asleep on his side in front of me, my body forming a “C” around his tiny frame, the nipple from my exposed breast resting on his cheek.  Ah yes, I remember bringing him into our bed to nurse him at some point during the night.  Did he actually eat and at what time…..I do not know.  I crane my neck behind me but my husband’s space is empty…he must be at work already.  What day is it?  Friday.  My day off.  I say a silent prayer.

Dear Lord,

Let me patient with the kids today,

Let me speak in soft tones,

Let me answer all their questions without saying “Because I said so”,

Let me praise rather than criticize,

Let me…….

My prayer is interrupted by Tyler waking up…on the wrong side of bed.  Crying, he enters my room waking Gabriel who starts to fuss wondering what happened to the food source that was at his disposal for the better part of the night.   “When is my play date going to be?”  Tyler half whimpers and half whines.  “Two weeks and two days,” I say which transforms the whimpers into full blown sobs.  I take a deep breath as I recite the prayer to myself:  Let me be patient, let me be patient.  I fish around the files in my head searching for some parenting advice from the no less than 5 books I have read recently before settling on How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, and Listen So Your Kids Will Talk.   “It sounds like you are upset because you want the play date to be today, right buddy?”  But he cannot hear me over the hysteria of his own crying (complete with loss of breath and near-gagging).  I grab Gabe and leave a blubbering Tyler to wallow in his sorrow and I almost bump into Madelyn in the hallway, a diaper full of pee weighing her PJ bottoms to the ground.  “Good morning, Squirt,” I chirp happily even if it isn’t as genuine as I would like.  “Come on down for breakfast!”  “I want water and milk and juice,” she demands angrily.  I would like to match her tone with an equally loud “Who do you think I am…your personal waitress!” but instead I say, “Can you say please, honey?”  Speak in soft tones, speak in soft tones.  Tyler finally joins us at the breakfast table as I start pouring milk (with a side of water AND juice for Madelyn), Gabe hoisted up on my left hip.  “I don’t want breakfast,” Tyler says.  Let me be patient and speak in soft tones.  “You have to eat something, buddy,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper as I slowly unlatch Gabe’s tiny fingers from my hair, but not before he grabs a fistful and pulls it loose from its roots.  “WHY???!!!!” he grunts.  “Because I…….” I catch myself before recovering with “…..I want you to grow big and strong and have enough energy to play all day!”  Just then Madelyn pokes Tyler and the fighting begins.  Let me praise and not criticize.  I desperately attempt to find something praiseworthy about the situation as my blood pressure rises a few more points on the scale.  “Madelyn, please keep your hands to yourself.  I like the way you are keeping your feet to yourself.”  She glances down at her feet pleased with the new idea I have given her and stretches out her leg far enough so her big toe just barely grazes Tyler’s chair which sends him into fits of rage.  (Who writes these parenting books, anyways?!!!)  I feel myself spiraling out of control as I set a squirmy Gabe into his exersaucer, a bowl of Cheerios in front of Tyler and a smorgasbord of beverages in front of Madelyn.  “I wanted waffles!” Tyler screams.  “I wanted orange juice not apple juice!” Madelyn screams.  Gabriel, unable to talk yet, just screams.  I feel like a Loony Tunes cartoon as my face turns bright red, steam emits from my ears like a tea kettle, and my eyeballs spiral around in their sockets.  It is 7:12 AM.  But it’s 5:00 somewhere.