return of the bimpire

i write a fair amount about the things that my kids do that test the limits of my self control. i hope i do. someday, i hope years from now, they're going to want to be with other people more than they want to be with me. and when that happens i'm going to want to remember why it's good for them to grow up.

we have so many good days. and so many days like this one, when i lose my mind repeatedly. i broke a plate today--on purpose. i knew i was going to break something for hours before it happened. i had to break it.

we've made up, ally and i, and she's sleeping peacefully. at least i think she's peaceful, though of course i don't know what she dreams about. she's quiet now, i can say that much. and i have no energy left except to feel humbled, and spent.

when i think of the kind of mother i had, i can't bear that my girls would have anything less. yesterday, as per our memorial day tradition, i told a memory of her. last year lauren's memory was about the wooden spoons that mom named, and threatened to paddle us with. i remember being chased, but not hit. by far the balance of my memories are heaped on the gentle side of the scale, and i can't imagine any better mother-daughter relationships than the ones my sister and i had with our mom. there is redemption.

today the mystery of human relationships bested me. i prepared and offered the healthy food, i respected the nap, i held the little hands, waited patiently and spoke kindly. until i didn't. it's not unlike playing a game of chutes and ladders: every move could bring a windfall or set me way back--way back. you said thank you: advance twelve spaces! you broke a plate: go back twenty spaces!

and yet despite everything, despite my distaste for conflict and annoyance with over-stressed parenting, i do admit these little forest fires into our domestic wilderness, even though i know they'll make my goals that much harder to reach in some ways. ally will have to decide to trust me again, and i her. she's four and i'm thirty-four and harmony will come with its price.

i'm not writing about discipline, or guilt or even frustration--just about this moment in my real life, which resists categories and neat solutions. and if it resonates with any other parent out there, that might be a good thing and if it doesn't, it can be another place for me to tell my girl that i'm sorry. ally, you wanted me to say so. i am sorry. i'm sorry.