I tend to have a penchant for procrastinating. It doesn't usually end well when I choose this route, but because 35 years of experience mean, apparently, nothing, I pushed it again this week and left something for the very last minute. Thus my trip to Target this morning. With all three boys. 45 minutes before the start of school. (smacks forehead)
After a morning of pushing, prodding, and cajoling the crew through the school readiness routine of breakfast, clothing, teeth brushing, etc. I drove down newly-snow-covered-then-plowed streets, all the while doling out multiple warnings of how quickly we needed to accomplish this task and if certain somebodies did not want consequences or to be late for school then we'd all better move it. We made it to the actual store and through the parking lot virtually without incident (VIRTUALLY, I say) though as soon as we made it into the store there were, of course, bathroom needs. Commence grinding of teeth and deep breathing and repeats of aforementioned threats.
The first 30 seconds of actual shopping went well until Jeran was pulled, almost as if by tractor beam, to the Lego aisle. My blood pressure rose a few notches as I forcefully reminded him that we were IN A HURRY and DID NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS. "Yep, ok Mom, I know," he replied as he sidled over to the Star Wars display. I told him I was moving on and promptly did so, moving a little further across the store, then of course returning to threaten (a little more loudly this time), then moving on again. In pretty short order I had the few items I'd come for and stood waiting at the end of the toy section, tapping my foot and making loud, dramatic sighing noises (for whose benefit, I have no idea, since Jeran was much too engrossed to be appropriately motivated by them, as I'm SURE he would have been had he been within earshot).
This is the moment when things truly went downhill. I muttered something inspiring like, "That. is. IT", grabbed hold of the cart and proceeded to fly at top speed back toward my oldest child. It was a bit of an out-of-body experience as I watched myself rampaging down the aisle. Thinking back, I believe I must have looked much akin to the Wicked Witch of the West except with shopping cart as opposed to broom, and a bright red face instead of a green one. But picture the same cruel intent in the eyes. I then listened to myself very loudly reprimand my child for how late he was making us, pounding my fist into my palm to enforce my point. Something in the back of my mind told me to take it easy, take a breath, take a MOMENT for pete's sake, particularly as I realized that there were several store employees around who were witnessing this whole debacle. But I just couldn't stop myself. And this dude was not getting the message.
On to plan B. I marched my irate self up to Guest Services and asked a most pleasant (and unsuspecting of how soon she was to be dragged into my mess) employee if she could please make an announcement for me over the store intercom. Surely if Jeran heard himself very publicly called to the front of the store it would get him moving. Pleasant Employee informed me they no longer had the ability to do such a thing, and I just launched, shamefully, right into manipulation mode.
"Well, I don't know where my child is."
This big fat lie of a statement, of course, soon sparked a domino effect of employee handset activity as the word went out about my wandering child. Who I was pretty sure was right where I had left him. Finally starting to realize that I had probably carried this a bit too far (and that any employee within 100 feet of the Lego aisle would know about my multiple encounters there with my child), I quickly went back to collect him, sheepishly showed the Guest Services employee that I did, indeed, have him back in my possession and with much more muttering and exasperated utterances, checked out and departed.
Why do I recount this story? I guess it's mainly because of the power words have for me as I strive to process. And the shame and regret and humiliation that hit me like a Mack truck the second we were all back in the car MUST, I feel, be put into words in order for me to move past them. While I have certainly had experiences when I've left a public place feeling that my children's behavior will most likely mark us as banned from the premises, this time it is only me who should probably avoid showing my face there again. My kids really were not ill-behaved in this situation. Nope, that was AAALLLL me.
It's all left me very embarrassed and aware of the need for change. I have become the mom I used to feel some embarrassment for when I'd see her out in public, yelling at her children and making empty threats and in general just seeming very desperate and unglued.
It all went wrong the second I made the decision to put off until tomorrow what could have been done today (multiple times, no less). But it goes beyond that. So many lessons have come out of this for me:
- I went into this situation EXPECTING the very worst of my children. My constant warnings and threats basically told them I think they're too naughty and too dumb to respond to me any other way. I think I do this often.
- I am in way too darn much of a hurry in my life. Everything is urgent and immediate and must be done on my time table.
- I have an anger issue. In this case, if I had just taken a freaking breath and given my son (whose obsession with Legos is both legendary and a force beyond his control) three minutes to look them over we probably could have avoided the whole scene and been out of there sooner.
All of these played into this morning's mess. And none of them are news to me. But I was humbled (yes, and humiliated) in a new way this morning and am challenged to rethink my response to life in general. I believe that God wants to use what He allowed me to see in myself this morning to further me on my journey with Him. I believe He needs me to chill the heck out and think about what my actions are teaching my children and telling the world-at-large about who I am. How can I tell my boys to be patient when I am constantly hurrying them along at my pace? How can I teach them about grace when I am flying off the handle at any inconvenience? How can I expect them to be kind when I point out their flaws, however inadvertently?
My thoughts on this can't really be wrapped up all nice and neat. It's a process, both mothering and growing as a person. So the journey continues...
