Enough is Enough

When is Enough...enough? Enough money. Enough happiness. Enough chaos. Enough love. At what point exactly does enough become too much...and who is responsible for determining these parameters?

It seems that the life inside my head is one of constant assessment and patrolling the perimeter of my responsibilities to calculate time, distance, finances, the tasks to be accomplished, the level of mutiny among the troops, etc. At least 1,067 times a day, I find myself saying "I have had enough!" Often, this phrase is followed by some command as to how my children need to fill in the blank...."settle down", "get your shoes on", "finish your homework", "stop brutalizing your brother"......and on and on and on.

When the boys were smaller it seemed as if every one of our days fell under the heading of either "monkeys" or "bears." If they weren't climbing and swinging from every surface while they peed and pooped and cried to be fed, then they were rummaging through cabinets and drawers like ravenous bears at a campsite. I remember thinking frequently during this period, "Oh my God...These children are endless pits of need" and counting the minutes until I put them down for their naps. A lot of nights I sobbed to myself, thinking about how selfish I was and how adorable they were sleeping in their feetie pajamas and how I would be so much more patient the next day. And then the next day would come, way too early, and by the 10th or 11th hour, there I was, pulling out my hair and counting the seconds until I could put them to bed.

Please understand that I love my children, truly, madly, deeply. I love their quirky personalities and how their faces scrunch up when they are angry and listening to them read for twenty minutes each night. But I also
I remember crying tears of joy and relief the first night that I was able to tell my oldest to go get in the shower and he did....alone. Then he washed himself...alone...with soap and a towel and everything! I caught a glimpse of the Promised Land that night and I never looked back. Now they dress themselves and pour their own juice/water* and wipe their own tails; but sometimes, I still check to see if they are clean.

(*There are hardly ever sodas on Mom's watch because on his days, Dad lets them drink Mountain Dew...and eat pizza or chicken nuggets every night...and skip their reading...which is why I have to be the Green Bean Bitch who makes them read on the WEEKENDS!)

I am probably more strict of than the majority of my friends who are parents. The boys and I have a family joke where I will tell them, "I know...say it with me..." and we will recite together, "My Mom is the meanest Mom ever!" (At least I think they are still  joking when they say it.) Apparently I am mean because I love my children enough to make them do things for themselves; even if they don't want to, which is often. And I love them enough to make them wait until they have saved their money to make a big purchase. Or if I do have a weak moment, give in and buy the Wii game or model car they can not afford, then I love them enough to let their purchase sit on the top shelf of my closet until they have the money to complete our transaction. Because part of my job is to prepare them for a world where the independent people who can delay gratification get advanced degrees, increase their earning potential and live more comfortable lives. (These folks can also afford to put their aged parents in more posh "care facilities", but rest assured that my motivations are pure.)

But I am increasingly aware that sometimes, my particular brand of "loving them enough" is really too much. Like when I call them down for laughing so loudly or being too silly. Honestly, are these behaviors I really need to correct? Or last week when I was "explaining" to them why it was a bad idea to aggravate each other because eventually it would lead to them putting their hands on each other which would eventually lead to unpleasant consequences. My oldest told me, "Mom! We aren't mad at each other. That's just the way boys are together." Lucky for me, my oldest is brash and opinionated and outspoken (must get it from his Father's people). So he is the one who will point out the obvious to me or gently call "B-S" when I am acting hypocritically. Like the time I spanked him for hitting his brother. That day I learned that hitting anything on fire and filled with testosterone is highly unlikely to correct the situation.

Fortunately, his brother doesn't listen to anything I say....he never has. He moves in his own time, does things his own way and he is unusually quiet and sneaky when it serves his purpose.  If I am brutally honest, I will admit that I admire his defiant "Braeden-ness" and I worry much less about how badly I might be screwing him up. Braeden is as resilient as Jackson is sensitive. But they have also taught me that  I can not afford to paint either one of them with such broad strokes. Because daily they astound me with their intelligence and complexity.

Undoubtedly, at many points in their lives, one of them will lie to me and the other will swear it is the truth, and I will not know what to believe. I only hope that on those days I will love them Enough to want them to take some risks and enjoy their lives and build their bonds, whatever form that may take. Statistically speaking, they will probably be on this journey longer than I will and I am comforted by the fact that they will probably  have each other to lean on. On my best days, I have total acceptance of the fact that they are the wise ones sent here from some more loving place, to teach me the lessons I need to learn. You know, the ones involving patience and self-control. The ones where a 45-year old manages herself to a higher level than she should expect from an 8-year old or a 10-year old. I can only pray to the Universe that it will be Enough.