I’m willing to be you thought it would be roses. You’re wrong. I’m not much of a flower person. I tend to kill all things green so the most you’ll see anything growing in my house is the dust bunny collection.
No, what I mean to end the sentence with is your kids. Now, if you have a teenager, you probably don’t want to take that advice but for me, who still has two little ones, I did it this morning. See, we’re at the eight month mark. Eight months since being home from Iraq. Eight months since we got in the car in my mom’s snow covered driveway and headed south, down to Texas with the kids, the cats, the dogs and the kitchen sink.
It’s been a rough eight months but lately, things are settling down. I went to see a therapist to help find some techniques to deal with my inability to manage it all. At the end of the day, I’m still a working mom, writer, housekeeper, et all and everything was falling apart around me. I couldn’t keep up and neither could the kids. I reached my breaking point so I went to the social worker and said please help me not be crazy any more (along with some serious prodding from friends). I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t doing anyone, not my kids, not my commander, not my husband, a damn bit of good.
I got help and you know what? Getting me help has made things a hundred percent better. My kids no longer have to scream and cry because everything is out of control in their lives, too. I’m better able to deal with my frustration, my anxiety, my everyday life and that makes it easier for them because when Mom is freaking out, everyone else does, too.
But this morning, my oldest got up and walked out to me. I’ve talked a lot to her about when Mommy has anxiety issues my chest gets tight and it’s kind of hard for me to breathe. I tell her when that happens, Mommy needs to take a time out to get it back under control. Well, she came out today and said she had the same feeling. So I crouched down and said, you know what would make it better? A mommy hug. And I hugged her and while I did, I breathed in the clean, soft smell of her hair. Her skin. Just the scent that makes my daughter my daughter. And when I dropped them off, I did the same thing with my little one, who still has just enough fuzz at her hair line to remind me of the baby she was when I left.
I took a minute today and just stopped and smelled my kids. It might sound bizarre but it was just one moment where I remembered everything that I’ve tried to do right with them and let the guilt about everything I’ve done wrong slip away. I kissed them on the forehead and sent them to school and was happy that we had a good morning with no crying, no yelling and everyone doing their part to have a good morning.
Sometimes, that’s all you can hope for.