Let’s deconstruct what really goes down when you’re raising little kids and your partner takes a trip:

Imagine a big hillside of sliding dirt exactly like what you see in all the digger books you’re forced to read to your toddler boys all the time. Together, my partner and I work steadily from 530am until 830 pm scooping the dirt that is sliding down and placing it back on top of the mountain. You would never know we are working as hard as we are. The house is always a mess, and the continuous laundry looks like we never have actually completed a single load or accomplished much of anything, yet day and night we work and we also try to spend time with each other and show up for each other.

If one of us is struggling that day and is extra tired, mentally taxed, or emotionally drained the other will pick up the slack by diverting attention away from struggling partner towards literally anything else. That person will do double duty during the evening hours mitigating fights, washing all the kids during bath, doing more books for the older kids at bedtime. Together we are tired, but we muddle through the weekend and try to give our partner breaks before our partner raises the red flag. Together we seamlessly move between roles of a ship director and an executor of all the things.

When one of us is gone on a weekend day. We tell ourselves it’s only one day and we put on our extra big patience pants filled with all the empathy we can muster to referee fight after fight without losing our cool. Typically, one of us gets a break for 2-4 hours to go do something solo but returns either before lunch time or before dinner time with a positive attitude the other partner can ride the coattails of until bedtime.

When it comes to work travel, Larry typically leaves on a Sunday and comes back usually a Wednesday or Thursday night. This means at least 1 child out of 4 and up to 2 children out of 4 will be in school while he is gone. We never leave each other on the weekends because that is when all hell breaks loose. But we had some good friends get married in Chicago last Friday and I knew it would mean a solo Saturday (I enlisted help for Sunday) as well as 5 solo nights/early morning shifts 530-800am before our nanny arrives. I encouraged Larry to attend the wedding to represent us. I wished I could go. Also, I’m an experienced mom at this point, I can survive my own kids for one day. It’s not like it’s a big deal…

Solo Saturday arrived and by 830 am I wished I had a solo cup in my hand. I’m not a religious person, but if I was, I’d say I believe God has put me to the ultimate test with my first born. How strange it is to fight with a mini version of yourself. He’s articulate, a fast processor, stubborn, has unwavering focus on anything he’s motivated to do and is undeniably driven. On Saturday, morning it was like he smelled my fear of the day and became undeniably driven to grind me into a nub of my former self.

My first mistake was I telling myself I needed to stay home for the baby’s morning nap when the deeper truth was, I feared being out in public and losing it on all my kids or breaking down crying. That was a mistake. Baby should have been dragged along for the ride and would have napped at least for a little while on the go. A morning outing is key to setting the tone for the day. I know this! Why did I let fear paralyze me? I hate myself.  Mila had a dance class that morning. Usually, Larry and I split our crew in half and I take 2 to dance. I should’ve just taken all 4 there and hoped for the best. Literally, ANYTHING would’ve been better than staying home.

After a less than stellar morning my attitude was that of a defeatist. I’m not proud of it. I typically keep it moving with activities and try to keep a positive outlook but inside I was withering, wondering HOW has it only been 3 hours into this day I’m ready to quit?!? So, I did all the things I know to do to turn my attitude around: I played my favorite music, I made sure I ate and drank enough water, I went outside hoping for some sun (news flash there hasn’t been sun in LA in a year). But none of my usual strategies worked because I let my oldest get to me.

I was so bothered that he was the root of the unrest and discord in the house. I felt resentment that he has been grinding me to a pulp for 5 years and then portraying the best sides of himself to the world and at school. I thought by 4 years old he would’ve turned a corner with me. Everyone says, oh once they turn 4 they’re so helpful and rational etc etc. Here we are at 5 years old and not only does he not help out when I ask him to, he makes life harder for everyone. I let his crying, whining, acts of aggression like a toddler rattle me to my core and by 630pm that evening I completely broke down.

I had gotten the baby to bed and my oldest was still causing discord. I yelled, I cried, I went outside alone and took deep breaths. I felt terribly guilty. Then I came back inside and apologized for my outburst and explained why I was so frustrated. As demanding as little kids can be one thing to love at this stage is how easy they are to forgive. I then got their PJs on, books read and everyone in bed by 830. I went upstairs to my room feeling terrible about myself but determined to face Sunday with a clean slate.

The past week has taken the same emotional toll as when I used to be in a fighting phase with an ex-boyfriend. I feel like I’m operating on a depleted battery. That was my signal it was time to put the ex into ex-boyfriend. Life shouldn’t be this hard I’d tell myself at the time. BOYFRIEND BE GONE! Note to self: I cannot apply same strategy to child.  It took until Larry returned three days later, when I got respite from early mornings and chaotic evenings that I was able to see things more clearly: My oldest isn’t fighting me to anger me. He’s fighting for more one-on-one time with me.

He is changing and I failed to see him for who he is: This capable individual who wants to excel and feels incredibly frustrated at being held back by his younger siblings. As soon as I saw a way through the chaos I had been feeling inside I took action. I spoke with him. I validated how hard it is to be oldest child and have to wait and be patient, and help and be told, for example, we can’t go on an airplane or learn how to ski until your little siblings are older etc. I suggested we start to make plans for all of the fun things we want to do together and then in August when we do have time to spend together, we can work through our list. The list hasn’t totally solved our current head butting but the validation of “Hey, I see you and what you’re struggling with,” has given us a base to build on instead of being at odds with one another.

It doesn’t how many kids you have. If one child is having an off day it can throw the entire ecosystem of the family off. And as caretaker of the tribe if you’re depleted or understaffed, the things that you can usually let roll become triggering.  Sunday was a better day, but death by solo Saturday shook my confidence as a parent. I didn’t understand my own kid. How troubling. I didn’t understand my own needs because of the overstimulation was real. Additionally troubling. I had multiple points to recover throughout the day and to right the ship. I didn’t. I wallowed in my own self-pity, and I let the ship sink and then lit it on fire with my emotional outburst that evening. Am I even a good parent? Am I messing up my kid? Am I turning into my own father who I believe left me with unhealed wounds?

My truth lies here: I know I’m a good mom. I’m actively trying to learn from my mistakes and to not let them shake me. To remain confident, I will have to find ways to shut off the noise that comes out from my own childhood when I encounter parenting challenges with my kids. I am not my father. My children are not me.