Recently I’ve had some vivid dreams, no, let’s call them nightmares. I usually dream in a spectacular form of technicolor,including  surround sound, smells, texture and even tastes, just ask my annoyed husband.  One dream I had recently has bothered me, a lot.  In the dream, er, nightmare, I was walking hand-in-hand with my youngest daughter in an M.C. Escher painting.  The cement stairs went on to infinity and her hand came out of mine, and she fell, and fell and fell.  I woke up in a panicked, gut-wrenching sweat.  Just thinking about it today makes me fear for her life.

I may complain about my kids, a lot, (in fact every day), but just the thought of losing them makes my heart clench up in an ice-cold vice.  Losing a child has to be the worst hell a person could endure in this life. 

In the weeks since the dream, I’ve attempted to be a better mom.  I can’t say I’ve completely mended my ways-I’m still grumpy when a daughter wakes me up at the break of dawn on a Saturday to show me her boo-boo, I’m still irritated beyond belief when the girls are screaming ‘Noooooooooo!!!’ at each other over the dinner table because of a ‘look’ or a ‘snort’ from the other sibling. I have, however, tried to count to ten in the few languages I know (including Pig-Latin) so that by the time I figure out the words I’m no longer angry.  I’ve spent more quality time with them in the past month since the dream.  I’ve hugged them more often, read more books, and didn’t complain (too much) when they slobbered a messy kiss on my cheek.

There are many parents who have lost their children and I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.  There are also those who have unsuccessfully tried to be parents, their anguish is palpable as well. 

I can’t say that I’ll completely change my ways because bitching about mommy-dom is a prerequisite of joining the mommy-club.  I will remember that this life is tenuous at best and my children are my life, for good and for bad.

I feel like I just struck parenting gold this morning!  How did it take me 10 years to figure this out? Allow me to share my amazing good fortune with you all…

This weekend found me parenting solo beginning around 4:00 p.m.  Friday and of course, it took maybe an hour before I was beginning to sport fangs and glowing red eyes in response to the constant barrage of frivolous needs and wants coming from the VIPs disguised as children that inhabit this house.  It seemed as though everything began with “Mo-OM!” and ended with “Can you get me (a drink, a snack, some money, my DS, etc.), Can you find (the remote, my Eiffel Tower Silly Band, my DS, my soccer shoes, etc.), Can you fix (the remote, my dinner, my scooter, this helicopter I haven’t touched in years but suddenly I need right this minute, etc.) and so many general Something is Not Quite Right statements that this Miss Clavel was considering making a batch of mean martinis.

I’ll admit however, that even though I grumbled and hissed and bared my teeth through all of this, I did, in fact, quickly satisfy any need, want or complaint that was thrown my way. This continued all through Saturday and began again this Sunday morning when as soon as my awakened human form was detected on their radar, the boys chided me for various infractions such as breakfast had not yet been served and it was almost 8 a.m., the On Demand was not working (to which I suggested they call Comcast and discuss it with one of the delightful customer service reps with whom I’m on a first name basis with by now) and Ryan’s foot was asleep (to which I suggested cutting it off if it continued to bother him).

Yes, I was grouchy and not proud of some of my snippy comebacks. But I’d HAD it. It was as if every time I entered the room this weekend, I’d announced “And now we will hear the lamentations of the children!” I just. Wanted. To have. My Coffee. And read the paper. Please. 30 minutes, guys, that’s all I ask!

So when I was finally able to sit down at the table and do just that, here within seconds appeared Ryan announcing that he was ready for me to help him work on his science project (that is due in 2 weeks. Seriously! Who works on their science project at 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning? Someone who senses that his mom may have a little free time on her hands, that’s who!). I felt the fangs growing back, the glowing red eyes beginning to shine, the blood pressure rising, and the Mommy is a Martyr comment forming on my lips.

Instead, I looked down, took a deep breath, turned to my son and said, “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m unavailable right now.” Then I smiled at him and turned back to the paper.

And dang it if he didn’t turn around and without a word, head upstairs to begin that science project all by himself. Novel concept.

I think I’m on to something here!