Friday, July 29, 2011

Evil ogre mom?

It is Friday, but my mood is much more reminiscent of a Monday morning. Here's why:

Today, my husband turns 40. I'm going to be volunteering at the drive-in movies tonight, meaning I won't have time to make him a nice dinner, so I did that last night: cajun-spiced baked fish fillets with fresh homemade mango salsa, brown rice and fresh corn on the cob. YUM!

Then, I woke up early this morning to bake him some banana bread for breakfast. As I was letting the dogs outside for their morning constitutional, I heard someone stirring upstairs - it was Jason; he keeps waking up earlier and earlier; today it was 5:45 AM. His alarm clock usually goes off at 7:15, so this is really early for him. He showered and was downstairs ready for the day by 6 AM. He asked to watch TV, but that is out of the question; it would be a bad morning habit for him to get into. Instead, I told him he could read, or play, or he could sort and bag the recyclables for us to take into town today. He chose to help with the recyclables. Good kid.

So there I am, mixing up the banana bread and stepping over my son, who is sorting plastic and cans and paper and glass, right in the way. I get the bread in the oven (toaster oven because my real oven STILL doesn't work, even though I ordered a new heating element online, removed the old one and installed the new one, all by myself), washed the dishes, and began sweeping all the floors. During this time, Jason decides to he must find one of his toys and is walking around everywhere looking, getting in my way again. There is a reason why I sweep the floors first thing in the morning when the dogs are outside and everyone else is asleep.

I finish sweeping and cut up a fresh pineapple to go with the banana bread for breakfast. It turns out, Jason doesn't want either, so I get cereal down for him to eat that instead. (kids!) I pack the boys' lunches as well as my own, then call the dogs in to give Rosabelle (whom I believe we are now calling "Deuce", although the jury is still out on that) her medications. By now, the banana bread is done, so I put it on a cooling rack on the stovetop to cool. Donald comes downstairs and starts eating the pineapple, but he doesn't want banana bread either. He wants cinammon toast. (there is no accounting for taste!) I get him situated, and head off to my room to shower and dress. I'm actually going to be early to work this morning!

Halfway through my shower, Jason knocks on the door and asks, "Are the dogs supposed to be eating the banana bread?" During the process of coming to ask me that ridiculous question, he wakes his father, whom I was trying to let sleep in on this anniversary of his birth. What ensued was me fussing at the dogs, Adam fussing at Jason, and the whole exhilaration of a Friday morning, and a birthday at that, crumpling into a cranky funk reminiscent of a Monday morning.

I know it is just food, that I can easily sweep up the floor once again, and that I should have known better - our new dog has obviously never been in a house before, and I'm sure she didn't know that what she did was wrong (although I'm pretty sure she realizes it now!), but I am just so bummed.

While finally getting dressed, I realized that part of why I am feeling so off is that the ONLY time I get to myself all day is the hour or so before the kids wake up. Even though I am usually doing housework or paying bills during that time, it is still MY time. I don't have to talk to anyone. I don't have to do anything for anyone. I can do something from start to finish without being interrupted. I can just be. Having my son unexpectedly underfoot this morning threw me for a loop.

So, when I dropped him off at summer camp, I let him know that I wasn't mad at him, that nothing was his fault, that I knew he was just trying to do the right thing, both by getting up early and by coming in to let me know about the dogs and the bread, and that I loved him. In the future, however, if he wanted to get up early, that was fine, but I'd like him to stay upstairs in his room until 7 AM. I explained that I need some time to myself every day so that I am not such a grouch.

My question is, is that wrong? Is my request selfish and unreasonable? Am I an evil, ogre mom?

(And if I am, do you think Adam and the kids will forgive me if I make some Apple Crisp tonight before the movies?)