It had been some morning. The kind of day when I had failed to make a breakfast that anyone liked, was behind schedule in lunch making, teeth brushing and homework packing. I was beginning to hate the sound of my own voice as I repeated myself and scolded little people who seemed to have the primary goal of ignoring every word spoken to them.
With my kids finally ready and only minutes to spare, I made a frantic attempt to dress in record time. As I searched through my drawers for anything that matched and fit, I groaned out loud as I caught a glimpse of the overstuffed laundry basket. I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to wash those clothes yesterday. I said a silent prayer that I would be able to find a clean pair of underwear.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, I was sweaty, frustrated and feeling defeated. It was 7:30 a.m. and I wanted to cry. It was a kind of day when a parent doesn’t feel equipped with the amount of patience that it takes to deal with three young children. It was a day that I questioned how good I was at my job and had the feeling of suffocation, knowing that it was never an option to quit. It was one of the more challenging days in the life of a stay-at-home mom.
With the morning chaos over, I needed a little down time. I decided to spend the next couple of minutes regrouping by sitting on the couch and watching TV. As a child, I always loved the Brady Bunch. I smiled when I found that an episode was on. Surely, the Brady Bunch could brighten my mood. But instead of cheering me up, I found myself getting irate at Carol. She was a mom, like me. But she was better than me. She had SIX kids, double what I had. They were always getting into trouble but she never got mad.
Even if they weren’t doing something wrong, wasn’t she tired of never having any time to herself? Didn’t she feel lost within the walls of motherhood? Didn’t she ever just want to have five minutes of quiet? She just stood there, every scene with that big f@*$#!@ smile on her face. Watching HER made ME feel worse. She never lost her cool. She never screamed at her kids and then felt so bad that she loaded everyone in the car for ice cream.
Aside from the fact that it is a television show (yes, I am aware of that), why wasn’t Carol going insane like me? Oh. I remember why. She had Alice.
Maybe I need a maid. Or at any rate, maybe I just need a reminder to stop putting so much pressure on myself. I can’t do everything. I don’t have to be the perfect mom. It is OK to need a break from my kids. Sometimes my life feels like a sitcom but I am definitely no Carol Brady.