Motherhood

Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids. I dote over things that probably make you roll your eyes over.

I still talk baby talk to my youngest even though she’s four. But if I’m being totally honest, sometimes I don’t like them.

You probably feel the same way, but you feel embarrassed to say it.

So I’ll say it for you. Sometimes you don’t like your kids.

I think it’s okay to admit. We admit that we don’t always like our boss, our parents, our spouses and family members. Why not our kids? I still love them, but there are times that the things they do really annoy me.

Here are a few things that really make me dislike my children:

When They Ask Me Crazy Questions on Repeat

Is Thidwick the moose a boy or a girl?

What happens if I go too far in the ocean? Will I die? Will you be sad? Will Jesus be happy with me when if I died and went to heaven with him?

Do bugs swim? Do they like to swim?

How can a snake bite with no teeth?

When They Ask Me for Things as Soon as I Sit Down

There must be something that we eat while pregnant that causes this. I’ll prepare dinner for everyone and try to anticipate anything they’d ask before I sit down to ensure that I can stay seated for at least 3 minutes without interruption.

One kid asks for more milk, and I ask the other if they need anything while I’m up. The answer is always no. Occasionally, I’ll start cleaning up the kitchen while I’m up, knowing that someone will want more of something.

When everyone seems satisfied, I return to my plate. And then tragedy strikes.

Suddenly, EVERYONE NEEDS SOMETHING.

This is enough to make steam come out of my ears.

When They Work Together to Be Mischievous

Oh, you know, drawing on the wall. Putting water in their play kitchen.

Using the toilet brush for whatever (denying it, but you know it was moved from the usual location)

Stealing things out of your room. Puting your makeup sponge in the bath and pretending it is soap. The list goes on and on. You know that they are doing normal kid stuff, but it still leads to those moments when you don’t like your kids.

Talking Back

“But mama, I’m not talking back, I’m explaining”

Sure, she’s only 6, but she’s got that back talking down. I’m trying to nip it before she becomes a teenager.

There’s something about talking back that makes the hairs on any parent’s neck stand up straight.

When They Take Advantage of Me

Right now I’m 9 months pregnant. My feet are starting to swell and I have to admit I’m hobbling around now. My husband is a farmer, so he usually gets home after all the crazy has hit an all time high.

 

When I’m sitting with my feet up, they find some way to get into a fight or have a meltdown that requires me to get up.

If I’m trying to make an appointment on the phone, talk to customer service or handle something important, it seems as if an alarm goes off inside them telling them to interrupt me (LOUDLY).

It’s enough to make me lose my marbles and not like my kids.

 

What can you do to avoid a meltdown yourself??

In those moments when you feel overwhelmed, take a break. Go into another room and take a breathe. Or tap yourself out of parenting for a bit and call your spouse in for reinforcements.

If your spouse isn’t around, throw the kids in the car and go for a ride.

Call a friend. Pull up a (kid friendly) video on YouTube and have a dance party.

Don’t allow yourself to sink and lose control. Some days that’s easier said than done, but it’s absolutely necessary to preserve your mental health and sanity.

When we go out in public, people frequently comment on my children’s physical appearance.  My blackness is put on display as their minds search for an answer to my children’s appearance. Some people are brave enough to ask, and some make general comments.

 

As a mother, it has always brought a great sense of pride when comments are made about their beauty. As they age, I now begin to wonder if the compliment have deeper meanings.

As the compliments are given, I often notice that people scan me. They scan my hair, my finger for a ring, and my face. It is subtle, but it’s happened so often, I am used to it.

As they are ogled for their skin complexion, “They are so lucky they don’t have to tan” and their curl pattern “I wish I had hair like that” it makes me wonder if the compliments are more due to the fact that people are drawn to their exoticism. I don’t share their complexion, and my blackness does garner the same type of attention.

At eight and five, they are beginning to notice the endless compliments. They are not at the point that they can connect it to race, but one day they will.

In fact, my eight-year-old has asked me why people always say they are beautiful. I simply tell her, because you are.

As they get older, I know the questions will be directed at them-especially when I am not around. They may be asked by peers and adults why don’t you look like your mom?

I want my kids to know that they have the option to not discuss our family’s racial identity if they choose not to.

Research shows that kids see race by the age of 5. However, the biases that come along with an observation come from the adults around them.

As a black mom, I worry about how my biracial kids will feel when they discover that racism and discrimination is still alive and well.

How will they feel know that this is still very real for ME? How can I protect them from discrimination based solely on my interracial marriage? 

 

I know that I can’t shield them from all the bad, but motherhood has given me that desire.

I worry about how they will internalize slavery. In our home, our conversations don’t center around race, but instead we discuss things that are alike and different about us.

For now, I feel that is an age appropriate conversation for them. But I want them to understand that life for others may be different from the life they have.

I want my kids to know a world without boundaries based on their skin color. For them, that may come a little easier because they are light-skinned. That sounds terrible to say, but it’s the absolute truth.

Making my children aware of my blackness is not just about me, but about having empathy for others around them. Having empathy doesn’t always mean that you agree with someone who is different, but that you can have enough compassion to listen to their story without diminishing their experience because you haven’t experienced it.