Losing It

by Patti


The other morning I sat in my car at the bus stop putting on my makeup (because yes, I'm one of those get-ready-in-the-car people) while I waited for the bus to pick up S.  As the bus pulled up to take the kids to prison school, my neighbor tapped on my window. I rolled it down to greet her, and she quickly popped her head in. “Sam is being a little shit.” Sam is her soon-to-be-7-year old. “It took everything in my power not to wring his neck this morning.” Then she pulled her head out and cheerfully waved goodbye to Sam and his sister as they boarded the bus.

Her words stayed in my car, bouncing off the windows and dashboard. It was as if my car had been her confession booth; she purged herself and then was able to go on with her morning without totally losing it.

Have you ever seen that Us Weekly magazine section where they feature celebrities doing mundane things like the rest of us peasants? “Stars! They’re Just Like Us!” Well, that is how I felt this morning. You see, this neighbor, who is also a friend, has always come across to me as one of those super patient, non-screaming mothers. You know: the ones who apply psychology and wisdom to every aspect of their children’s behavior; they ‘get’ them in the ways that us screamy mothers do not; they are kind and calm and makes cookies and do crafts. But guess what? THEY SNAP, TOO.

Years ago, when Cathy and I were taking our daughters to the ballet studio where we first met, there was a mom there that was always waiting ever-so-quietly-and-patiently for her daughter to finish class. There she would sit, knitting whimsical little scarves, smiling and nodding as the rest of us more, uh, “exuberant” moms yammered the hour away, sharing stories of the total exorcist moments* we had just had prior to coming to class, feeling frazzled and pissed off because of what might have just transpired right before walking in the door of the studio. Then when the kids would come out of class, we would once again become a stressed out jumble of "Get your coat! Get dressed! Don’t forget your ballet shoes!” And this woman? Would just wait patiently, her daughter’s coat draped neatly over her arm; she seemed so understanding of the fact that her daughter needed a few minutes to bounce around before getting ready to go. She was so serene; so… perfect in her motherhood. One day I finally just asked her: “You are just so peaceful as a mom. How do you DO it?”

She actually laughed. Laughed out loud. And looked a little maniacal when doing so. She put down the whimsical scarf she was knitting and said, “Are you KIDDING? I yell all the time!”

Her words were like a balm, but I had a hard time believing her. Unless she was this completely psychotic freak with a split personality, how on EARTH could she go from smiling and knitting to spitting and screaming?

How?

Oh, EASILY. The longer I am a mother and the more mothers I meet, the more clear it is to me: Once that kid comes into your life, you DO develop a split personality. As I have said before, you can go from sheer joy and adoration one minute, to veins popping out of your neck the next, and then right back to sniffing the crook of your kid’s neck because MY GOD they are just so damned delicious.

It is a universal thing, this ability to Lose It. Being a mother is the hardest thing ever without question hands down no two ways about it the end. And whether you have a master’s degree in serenity or are of the more fiery variety; either way: if you are a mother, you will lose it. The best thing we can do for one another as mothers is to admit it. Out loud. And then hug each other so we can then hug our kids with the confidence that losing it once in a while? It’s okay. They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. All of us, together.

*see Glassary