Blogging is... cheaper than therapy

... but not necessarily as effective! Certainly not as interactive. But it is readily available on a Sunday afternoon when I feel I need to vent, and to question myself a bit.

So, I ask my imaginary blog-o-sphere analyst, am I a bad mother for the agonizing frustration I felt toward my daughter for committing the grave transgression of making blueberry pancakes (from scratch!) for the family this morning? Yes, since it is important to be truthful in therapy, that's what I felt. Well, earlier on I did actually enjoy the delicious pancakes. And even earlier I noted how Lydia's little-girl cuteness has almost completely matured into the much less definable (but equally adorable) characteristics of a pre-teen, and I was proud of they joy she clearly took in meticulously preparing a lovely breakfast for Andrew, Evan and me. But later, after we'd eaten and the three of them went out for a while, I discovered just how colossal a mess I was left to handle after this culinary escapade. It's a good thing I was alone, because I let fly a few words I REALLY try not to use anymore, especially when the kids are in earshot.

I remember being in a family therapy session at some point in my late teens. I've long since forgotten the reason(s) for the session, and which of the various turbulent and transitional moments we were weathering, but I recall being in room with my mother, my brother, my sister and a therapist or counselor (I've also long since forgotten everything about him or her). He (or she) asked a question along the lines of what kind of help I was hoping we would get, and my answer was that I didn't even want to start a process or form a relationship I feared I'd never be able to outgrow or escape. I envisioned myself re-hashing the same issues and problems over and over, never actually solving anything. The definition of insanity (I think I'd recently been told) is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. To my very young self that sounded like what it meant to go into therapy.

To my present-day self, doing the same thing over and over often seems like my typical day as a homemaker. And at the moment it's driving me a little crazy! Hence the question (and the self-doubt): am I a bad mother? This is what mothers do, or at least that's what I hear: we encourage our children to grow, to gain new skills, to exhibit generosity, to experiment in different areas. So much the better if their explorations bring them into the kitchen, where we moms can certainly use the back-up. But I did feel a little over-run by today's project, which left the entire sink and a good amount of counter littered with dirty dishes (and mixing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, etc...), baked-on batter dribbled between the range and the cabinet, and a fair amount of flour sprinkled about on the floor (a bit treacherous and slippery). Cleaning the kitchen is something I do over and over (and over and over and over and over), but it still needs to be done at least two or three times a day. Is that insanity, or is it just life?

Well, I leave you, my cyber-therapist, to mull that over while I sweep up the last of the crumbs and start the dishwasher. Our tax accountant is due shortly to do our annual return, which reminds me how glad I am that there are SOME horrifying tasks that I don't have to face.

Happy February,
XOXOX
Tara