one of those days....again

An hour ago, I was working very hard at not getting frustrated. Again. Over one of those "usual" things.

I love my kids, and I would do anything (within reason) for them. Sometimes I really wish they could see that. I really wish they would see the imbalance between the times they want or need something, and the times when I ask them to do something for me.

Today's frustration actually started two weeks ago. Henry was swimming at the HS District meet. Swimming is a huge part of the identity of our family: Guy coaches, all the boys swim for some portion of the year, and I spend a good portion of my time organizing life around the practice and meet schedule--one of those behind the scenes activities that gets far less recognition than it deserves. Case in point--this District meet. Simply around this day, I got a note in for Henry to be allowed to travel separately from the team, stopped for snacks for him, waited in line for over an hour, sat in a hot, loud and crowded gallery over the pool, and thoroughly enjoyed watching the meet, cheering for our team and the boys' friends from other teams, taking pictures, texting results to Jonathan....and after the meet, in which Henry not only swam a best time, but hit a time he never imagined, I was literally told by another mom, and Henry himself, that I am not the first person he would hug. She actually pushed me away from him. And he let her. No explanation (still), and what's worse, he agreed that she was the one who gets the first hug after the race of his life. It hurt and confused me, but what could I do?

The following week, he was a little less happy with his swim, so he was in no mood to hug anyone. Whatever. This week, Jonathan told me he needed new basketball shoes--every single day--until we ordered them. Joseph and Drew have been asking for new sneakers, too, and when we are going to get them (I was actually planning on today, and have even been telling them so, with the occasional question of why we have to wait so long). Then, last night, after another great swim--this time at the HS State meet-- I stood with my arms open for a hug, and Henry hugged a coach, his girlfriend, and then stood looking at me. Eventually he did hug me, and even told me that the reason he doesn't hug me at those times is because he thinks I might cry (which I do, but I cry when he doesn't, too, so I'm not sure why the happy/proud tears are worse than the hurt/sad tears).

Given all of that, I did get especially frustrated when this morning I declared that everyone needed to take one hour to select a flowerbed and weed it, and was given grief. Jonathan simply could not spare an hour because he has English homework to do and needed to take a shower. (English homework which, by the way, four hours later he has not yet worked on.) Henry definitely did not have an hour to spare because he needed to take a shower and get ready for practice. In the pool. (which I realize is not the same as a shower, but still!) Drew and Joseph headed out without argument, and got to work. After I unsuccessfully tried to conceal my anger and frustration, I went out to weed a flowerbed of my own. They all weeded, but grumbled about the part of the job commonly referred to as "cleaning up after oneself," and honestly weeded far more than I had anticipated in that hour.

Why did I get frustrated? For the same reason parents all over the world get frustrated: they don't understand what we do for them. They don't understand what we sacrifice for them. They don't understand that I would give up shoes for myself, and have. I would give up every minute of my social life for the sake of theirs, and have. I am willing to learn how to grow vegetables (something I've never been able to do successfully), and can or freeze them if necessary so they can have some spending money at college because I will need that much less to buy groceries. I don't think it's too much for them to understand, even with consideration of the "adolescent egocentrism" they all are experiencing. Instead, I figure it's some kind of failing on my own behalf. Rationally, I figure it's normal. I'm a sometimes frazzled mom, so I don't always think rationally, I think emotionally, whether I like it or not.

And today I don't like it. So now that a little weeding is done, and half the family is at one practice or another, I'm going to work on some other projects, and shake this frustration, so I can start the week feeling like I've accomplished something more than the "usual weekend." And later I'll run and sweat out whatever is left of it.