I need to call my Aunt Melva. No, I need to go take an intensive course with her on how she raised her five girls.
I can remember hanging out at their house and marveling at the fact that all the kids there were GIRLS. She had five. My five Arizona cousins. I love them all. I had big times with them growing up. But my Aunt Melva….she’s the one that pops into my head when my girls start driving me crazy.
This weekend has been one of crazy intensive girls. I mean, the hormones seem to be sky high round here. The moods shift and swing in crazy unexpected arcs. Seriously, it’s enough to make a mom want a drink. Ok, me.
This morning, in the swirling prep time before Mass, I thought I had it together. Gabey is home sick so I’m staying with him and will attend the late Mass. But I surfed a few moods, did some hair, offered tastes of the pumpkin roll to a few…and then the surface starting cracking. Moods. Issues. Thunder rumbling through the kitchen with sparking tears, instantly.
Sigh…. It’s the change of seasons of course: autumn. I love it. But I always forget that while we love the colors and smells and crisp days, it brings the time change or the “Why hasn’t the time changed? Why is it so dark?” issues. Explaining this to M is tough. I just keep telling her it will be better in a few weeks. She’s frustrated. And the clothes. One day it’s very warm, the next awfully nippy. Which is fine and kind of fun. Unless it’s early in the morning and you need to get to Mass. Then, somehow, none of the girls (The boys do fine, they wear the same year ’round practically. So easy…ah….) can find anything to wear. A couple of them have legitimately grown. A couple are done growing. So some need a few more Mass clothes for the cold weather, a few have them…not that they can find them. And when a girl who has big troubles in the morning is pushed to hurry, she is like a T Rex bashing through your kitchen and frankly, it’s tiresome and pushes my buttons more often than not.
So, mom fail.
Not so great when you have a fuss with your daughter on her way out the door to Mass, and she slams it as she goes. Sigh. And all about clothes…which makes my belly hurt because it’s first world problems. She knows better and is, I know better than to engage and fail.
I need a pro. I need my Aunt Melva. She got through these years, with not four but FIVE teen daughters at one time in the house. It’s the multiples of them that make it ever more complicated of course. A swirling whirlpool of hyper hormones and flashing eyes. Aunt Melva, thought, she managed it all with humor and grace, as far as I can tell.
Maybe she’ll come to my house and take up residence for awhile. Maybe I’ll go hang with her for an interim intensive! Sigh…teen girls. I don’t know about you, but I need an Aunt Melva, right next door.
**UPDATE** So, Mass is such a balm. Such grace and softening of our hearts, opening them again. Made up with daughter. Hugs and laughs. It helps that this one is such a mini-me..we understand each other to the core, good and bad. Though even that idea is worth many posts to sort through it all. Oy! But, the Sunday is restored to it’s proper balance. At least for the next 5-10 minutes, I hope.