I hate being wrong. I often question if I am indeed 'right', but when there is no question and I blow it, it stays with me. I rewrite what I said in my head. I apologize and then wonder if I am forgiven. I wear an obnoxious 'P' on my forehead - I can't seem to achieve better parenting through perfectionism. And it sucks.
The latest glory moment: I was rounding up the kids for our PTA board meeting yesterday, and they were bickering and messing around. I gave them directions and they ignored me. I gave them consequences and they ignored me. And as I went upstairs to get my stuff, I broke my own rules and shrieked 'SHUT UP'. The words left my lips and I cringed; Zack started to cry. 'We' don't scream shut up around here - just ask my kids.
I picked Zack up and called Lexi over to me. I said sorry: that I was feeling badly, and that I had had a rough day, that I miss Daddy. That yes, I was angry that they didn't follow my directions, but I was still sorry.
And we made up.
I often wonder if being a perfectionist is just a fancy way for me to pretend that I am above screwing up, that I have it all together. I simply don't.
But I love my kids and I hope they know it. I hope they know they don't have to be bright and shiny all the time to win my affection. We're all doing the best we can.
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