There was a time when my mother threw up her hands, turned her back, and walked out on us. We didn’t hold it against her; after all, we had pushed every last button. She eventually returned, but there were several long, tense hours when it felt like she might not. But let’s rewind a bit.
This week, I found myself in desperate need of a break — a simple, purposeless pause where I could just sit still and do nothing. In the whirlwind of motherhood, these moments can sneak up on you, buzzing in your ear like an annoying mosquito. After weeks of preparing meals for school staff, signing permission slips, tackling a mountain of work papers, trying to tame the overgrown yard, and ensuring everyone is well-fed, the late afternoon headaches hit hard. Not even caffeine could quell the monster anymore.
And then, as if mocking my plight, a well-meaning friend posted a tranquil beach photo with perfectly pedicured toes in the sand — cue the heavy sighs of despair. Perhaps this is just my reality; you’re likely cruising along in the fast lane. But if a single ball I’m juggling drops, or if I indulge in one too many meals on the run, or if I haven’t had a genuine conversation with my partner in three days, and if I have to pick up one more nasty hairball, I swear I might lose it.
I reminisced about the days when the kids were younger, when having a clean house was a relative concept, and applesauce and ice cream were perfectly acceptable dinner options. I remember lurching around the house like a character from a classic novel, one teething baby on my hip and a whiny toddler seemingly glued to my leg. Those mornings leading up to nap time often blurred into a chaotic mess of broken crayons and diapers. God bless my husband, who would come home just in time for dinner on those particularly wild days. Let’s just say I didn’t greet him with a smile and pearls.
Those days were not always pretty. I would often gaze out the Window of Despair, questioning my choices, contemplating how much gas was in the car, and wondering how far I could drive before turning back. Back then, they called this kind of dark mood postpartum depression, but during my childhood, it was simply referred to as motherhood, and you were expected to soldier on without help.
This brings to mind the night when my mother left. My father was stationed overseas for a year, leaving my mother to manage three teenage girls and two young children on her own. This was a recipe for chaos: three teens with synchronized PMS, a demanding five-year-old, and a busy toddler who had a knack for injury and wandering off.
After 18 years of marriage, my mother had finally decided to take a couple of college courses. She was trying to find time to read and write between the demands of five kids. Perhaps she sensed she was a bit distracted, but whatever the reason, she decided to reward us with a special Sunday roast beef dinner. The table was beautifully set with the main course, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, and vegetables. We all gathered around to enjoy some family time before the hustle of a new week.
No one remembers how it all began. One of my sisters made a biting remark, another retaliated, and suddenly it escalated — think of it as a hurricane forming from a gentle breeze. The volatile mix of hormones, a long week, and a sprinkle of chaos led to a full-blown food fight. It began with a spoonful of mashed potatoes and quickly devolved into a battlefield of gravy, green beans, and furious yelling. The moment the pitcher of iced tea flew across the room, my third sister scooped up my younger brother from his high chair, dragging me along to safety, her instinct to “save the children.”
During this chaos, it dawned on us that we were missing a parental figure. Our mother had vanished. The driveway was empty, and an eerie silence enveloped the dining room. Uh-oh.
Had our father been home, the consequences would have been dire. We would have faced the wrath of a parental figure. Instead, we cleaned up the mess, heads hung low, and went to bed without protest. The three older sisters likely sat in their room, contemplating how to handle the mortgage until dad returned.
The next morning, she was back in the kitchen making breakfast as if nothing had happened. We later learned she had driven to the beach, spending hours on the dunes, letting the sound of the waves calm her nerves while chain-smoking. She had reached her limit and needed to remind herself of the love she had for us.
We didn’t talk about that day for years, and it wasn’t until much later that my father learned about it, long after my sisters had moved out and were away from parental scrutiny.
On days when I, too, feel overwhelmed by the chaos of motherhood, I think back to that moment and recognize the mental signs that indicate it’s time for a break to preserve some sanity. It won’t always be like this, and new mercies will greet me with each day. I may be far from the beach now, but I can close the bathroom door and take a few moments to breathe. And when it gets unbearable, I know a nice dinner is just a call away.
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Summary:
In the whirlwind of motherhood, moments of overwhelm can lead us to our breaking point. Reflecting on my mother’s experience reminds me that taking a step back is essential for maintaining sanity. Embracing the chaos and recognizing when to take a break can help us navigate this challenging yet rewarding journey.
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