But the thing is, I wish she hadn’t.
doing a great job, and that I have proof of that. She doesn’t know that I am the most impatient person alive. But I didn’t know how to correct her, or anyone else, who attempts to tell me Im doing a “Great job” with the kids.NOT Because she honestly doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what Ive done with my life, doesn’t know the struggles I have, or the situations Ive been in. She doesn’t know that I am
I don’t know, really, what the definition of a “Great job” is, but I happen to know it isn’t what goes on here.
I know that many people would be appalled to find out how many times laundry is done here, I know many would shake their heads if they realized how many “Nutritious meals” we actually eat, and more disgust would be thrown our way when people find out just how many times Josh actually gets a bath.
I try to run through the flash cards that are sent home with him, and point out different letters, colors, and shapes, but more often than not, I get busy…or forget. I usually make sure the kids have their homework done, but sometimes I let Dylan slide by without completing everything in one sitting. It isn’t usually until after they’ve gone to bed, do I remember that Madison wanted me to help her with spelling words.
Ketchup is considered a vegetable, and juice a fruit. The back yard is a dirt road and creek that runs into the ocean, where bears like to hang out.
I yell too much, smoke too often, and don’t always remember to lock the door (except when I don’t have my keys).
The kids are at school on time, mostly, but no one sees what happens minutes before, when I wake up, and run them around like crazy. They don’t realize that the shirt Josh had on today was his pajama shirt, or that he didn’t eat breakfast this morning, because he was freaking out about something totally unrelated. They didn’t hear me tell him that “He was only harming himself.”
People who say Im doing a “Great job” only know one thing, and they don’t know the things that go on, behind these doors. They don’t know I let them watch TV, that I have the theme song for “Sponge Bob” memorized. That I have a five year old who just now is starting potty training. They don’t know that I consider playing outside to be a good thing because it means a few minutes of silence. They don’t know that Josh’s bike came from the dump this weekend, and that he doesn’t exactly know how to ride it. They don’t know that when he sat on said bike, and Madison and Dylan pushed him down the hill…it never entered my mind to stop them.
They don’t know that if put under enough pressure, I would crack. That if asked enough times, I will cave. That if someone cries I will give whatever they want, whenever they want, just to stop the tears. They don’t know that at night, the only things that run through my mind are the thoughts of things that didn’t get done…not plans for a successful tomorrow.
They don’t know that at the end of the day, when the kids are in bed, I don’t clean, and straighten things up, but most often sink back into that dark quiet place in my mind, and try to convince myself that somehow…tomorrow will be better.
They think I do a “Great job” because they see me, two minutes every day when I bring Josh in, and pick him up. They see a brief snap shot into his life, and think that because of it, they somehow “Know” for a fact, that I am, doing a great job.
I have a sinking suspicion that if they saw me the rest of the time, they would have a different notion.
Don’t tell me Im doing a good job, I know Im not.
Don’t tell me I have patience, I know I don’t.
Don’t tell me I screw up, I already know I do.
Don’t tell me the kids are well behaved, or I will ask you for some of what your smoking.
Don’t pretend you didn’t see that, I know you did.
Don’t hold a stare, it only makes things worse.
Don’t tell me what I should do, you might end up with three kids, or a busted lip.
Don’t tell me what YOU would do, because I will ask why you havent.
Don’t tell me what I should do, because Im not you.
Don’t tell me “If I were you” because you arent me.
Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, I don’t want to hear what you have to say.
Don’t tell me you know what Im going through, because you don’t.
Don’t tell me you understand, because if you did, you wouldn’t have said that.
Don’t tell me to hurry up, or slow down. Im going as fast or as slow as I can.
Don’t tell me how to act, you don’t know why Im acting this way.
Because chances are, I already know.
Ask me, I will tell you.
Advise me, I will listen.
Demand, and I will mark you off.
Just as a side note, I am not in any way refering to people who have (so kindly) offered advice online. Im refering to people I meet at the store, or the school, or on the street who think they (and most likely do) know better than me. People who havent taken the time to understand whats going on, before giving their “Opinion” and expect me to follow through with what they say. I appreciate every bit of advice that has been given to me, and one day, will try to make that obvious.