This morning? I completely lost it.
After the kids were dressed for school, breakfast was gobbled up, teeth brushed, and backpacks packed, I flipped on the TV. I have a strict rule about what channels the kids can watch because, let’s be real—there’s a ton of junk out there. Shows filled with kids calling each other “idiot” and “stupid” and acting like total brats. Honestly, I struggle to keep my kids in line without adding those influences! So the deal is, I control the remote, and they’re not allowed to change the channel without asking. But Annabelle? She never follows this rule. The second I leave the room, she’s got the remote, hunting for some obnoxious show featuring sassy teens. This morning was no different. I set the TV to Nick Jr. for Finn, and within thirty seconds, she was flipping channels. “Annabelle, leave the TV alone!” I shouted. I walked out, and a few minutes later, I caught her again, remote in hand, channel surfing. And that’s when I snapped.
Screaming, yelling, and yes, swearing ensued. “I’VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES TO LEAVE THE TV ALONE!!” I bellowed. “GO TO YOUR ROOM! SIT THERE UNTIL IT’S TIME FOR SCHOOL. NOW!!!” She just stood there, frozen. “GO!!” I yelled again, and the other kids halted in their tracks as I practically chased Annabelle into her room. She beat me to it, locking the door! “I’m going to lose it!” I muttered. “MOM! Are you seriously going to kill Annabelle? Did you just say that?!” Daisy shrieked. “OPEN THIS DOOR!” I shouted. Annabelle finally unlocked it. “Don’t you ever lock the door against me again! Do you hear me?!”
Meanwhile, Michael tried to calm me down. “Leave me alone!” I yelled at him. “I do EVERYTHING for you all—including YOU! And you treat me like garbage!”
I know, I know. All this drama over an eight-year-old changing the channel. But it’s not just about that. It’s the continuous struggle of managing Finn’s breakfast tantrums, Joey’s dramatic meltdowns when I refused him an Instagram account (he’s ten, for goodness’ sake!), the endless bickering, the constant “I want, I want, I want,” and the unwillingness to help with even the simplest tasks. Asking them to set the table or clean their rooms? You’d think I’m asking them to pull out their own fingernails! Plus, with my husband away so often, I often feel like I’m navigating this chaos alone.
I’m not justifying my meltdown this morning. I’m ashamed. I wish I could handle these moments with more grace. And before I sound like my own mother, who believed her happiness hinged on her kids’ behavior, let me clarify: I know kids are kids. Their antics aren’t personal.
But some days, motherhood feels like one giant “F*ck You.” This is why people say parenting is tough—not because it’s the most intellectually stimulating or physically demanding job (though it can be), but because it’s so emotionally draining. It’s so often thankless. I pour so much of myself into my kids, and it feels like they hardly notice. I’m not asking for trophies or grand gestures—just a smidgen of cooperation and respect for the simple rules I set.
It’s hard to admit these feelings. Everyone loves to rave about how fulfilling motherhood is. And yes, sometimes it is. But often? It’s not. I guess I’m sharing this to avoid feeling isolated in my struggles. After dropping the kids off at school, guess what I found? Annabelle forgot her lunch at home. Who do you think had to pack up the baby and Finn to drive it over to her school? Because that’s just what moms do.
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