Yesterday I had a freak out on my son. Not a physical freak out, just a verbal freak out. It flowed out of my mouth like lava and I could hardly contain it. What began as a relatively simple trip to the grocery store to pick up a few things for weekly lunches, turned into an all out rant about everything from lack of fruit in his diet to his carefree, nonchalant attitude about failing his final poetry assignment.
I muttered under my breath, I muttered out loud. I muttered to myself, and I muttered to anyone within earshot. I had a complete lack of control over my mouth and I felt like I was losing my mind and there was no way to stop it. I went on and on and on and on. It started in the store, moved to the car, and ended at home. I’m not even kidding.
What came over me? PMS? An alien invasion of my body? Genetics? (My mom was the reigning champion of lengthy rants under her breath.) I don’t know what caused the original root of my verbal diarrhea, but I do know what came over me later. Guilt. Big, big, guilt. The worst kind of guilt. A mother’s guilt.
As a mother, I try very hard to make sure that my kids are healthy and happy. All I want is to give my children all the tools that they will need to succeed in life. Yesterday, I failed on both counts. So the fault is almost entirely mine. Almost.
And I’m sorry.
So today, I made you banana muffins. And just for the record, I don’t like poetry either and no, I don’t know when you’re ever going to use it!
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