Yesterday morning, we woke up our alarm clock at 7 bells and discovered something fascinating. The kids were still sleeping. Amazing.
I snuck out of bed and into the shower without disturbing the peace. Also amazing.
Then clunks and thumps were heard from upstairs.
"The kids are up." I told Chet.
"What gave that away?" he wondered.
When our kids wake up, they often alert the entire neighborhood. It's not a peaceful process. When Piper awakens, she throws everything out of her crib and you can hear everything hit the floor. Tucker wakes up and finds the closest noisy toy and proceeds to play with it, waking anyone who isn't up already. Avery clunks down the stairs, one step at a time, whips open the bathroom door, throws open the toilet lid and goes about her business. When she's done, she walks over the squeaky floor to the cereal cupboard and either gasps, which means there is good cereal, or says oh, man!, which means there isn't.
As the morning chaos ensued, I got myself dressed hastily, looking frantically for something that would fit over these postpartum hips.
As I struggled into a pair of pants, I told myself, I will not nag, I will not nag, I will not nag, I will not nag.
Sunday mornings are notorious for me nagging at a certain male member of this household. Getting everyone out the door in their Sunday best in one hour isn't an easy task. "Quit standing around, we need to leave!" "Why are you doing that when you can clearly see that I need your help with this!" "Pack the diaper bag!" "Get the kids dressed!" "Go trim your nose hairs!" "Is that really priority right now?" "You're having another serving of breakfast? Do you realize I haven't gotten a chance to eat yet?" "No, not those shoes!"
My poor husband. I've always been bossy and he is the opposite of bossy. When he wants me to help him, he is polite and says things like "Please can you take out the garbage?" and "If you have time, could you possibly put my lunch together?" These little requests are usually followed with some sort of hug and always followed with a thank you.
Feeling like the old nag that I am, I decided to try something different besides nagging. I would simply get everyone and everything ready myself. I figured that if he noticed we were running behind, he would jump in and help without me nagging.
It worked. Well, I did have to nag once for him to pack the diaper bag when I caught him standing around at the front door with his hands in his pockets, looking lost.
We made it to church on time and settled into the bench. The kids did pretty well this Sunday, but we're continuously interrupted with questions from them. "How many more minutes?" "Is that man up there God's son?" "Can I go to the bathroom?" "I'm starving!" "Is there another baby in your belly?" I can't remember the last time I listened to an entire sermon.
When the minister asked for the gospel, I raised my hand and Piper slapped it, giving me five.
When we were leaving and I was buckling the kids in, I got somewhat disgruntled at Tucker's car seat buckle. What made it worse was Chet sitting in the front seat, tapping on his phone, oblivious to the fact that I was struggling. I made a noise one would make when they are mad and would like someone else to notice.
"What?" he whipped his head around.
"This car seat. I hate winter. Trying to buckle them in with their winter duds on. Ugh."
"You're starting to get into a sour mood." he said as I settled into my seat.
Sour mood? I wondered. Then a light bulb went off in my head.
"You're right. I do get in a sour mood sometimes. Because I know when we get home, it's going to be cold outside. We'll have to unbuckle everyone from their seats, walk everyone into the house, take all their stuff off of them, all while they're all bawling and whining because they're starving hungry." I said. "Then, as soon as I try to get lunch on, Milo is going to wake up, needing me to feed him. While I feed him, the kids are going to continue bawling because they are still starving. And I'll probably need to go to the bathroom, but won't get a chance which makes me even more crabby. So I'm dreading it. That's why I'm in a sour mood."
"Huh." he replied and looked out the window.
When we got home, all of the above happened. Except Chet made lunch and fed the kids while I fed the baby. And the bawling and whining stopped sooner than planned.
I'm sure I didn't need to spew all that venom. I'm sure it would have been easily resolved by me asking him, "Could you please possibly, if you have time, be able to help me put lunch on while I feed the baby in the event that it's pure chaos when we get home?"
And I'm sure he would have replied, "Sure. I could do that. No problem."
Why I have the need to nag and micromanage, I do not know. But I never said I was perfect.
Now I can see why my mom was so busy when we got home from church when we were young. And why she was so unsympathetic to our complaints about us being so hungry. And why she would yell, "I need help in the kitchen!" And why she would get frazzled when no one showed up, pretending we didn't hear her. Had I known what I know now, I would have been a lot more help to my poor mother.
Comments
Post a Comment