When I turn out the lights...

I had a rough night last night--chest pains induced by guilt I feel as I remember two incidents, one per child, in which I lost my mind and changed their course. For my daughter it was 6 years ago--she was a precious five-year old, a baby. I only remember the context--we had just left Disney, it was late and we were in the back of the car together for the drive home. We had not even left the parking lot. I do not recall what was said--I only remember being violently angry at her. I did not hit her--god no--but my words were flying out of my mouth like daggers. I do not even recall what I said to her but she cried and that night sticks in my head as the night I changed my baby girl. Further into our drive, she was sleeping and I leaned in to kiss her, I snuggled her and pulled a blanket over her little body. I am so sorry...

For my son, it was only one year ago--he was 7. He had eaten too much on Thanksgiving and, while in bed, he vomitted ALL OVER his bed and every toy, animal and pillow in it. See, he's on the top bunk and it's not that easy to get down--I should know, I was cleaning vomit while knocking my head on the ceiling. I was unreasonable, unsympathetic and angry. I had him up, out of bed bringing me towels as I scolded him and cursed. Then I caught my wits--I cooled down and I made him a pallet in my floor, in case he needed to vomit again. I kissed him and I apologized for my anger, I laid next to him and hated myself.

As I lay in bed last night, hoping for sleep to come before the thoughts poured in--they poured and I was pinned to the bed under an ocean of guilt. My heart hurt and my mind tortured me with replays--the anger, their sweet faces, their innocence and my irrationality. I made promises of all that I would do with them in the morning--god, if only I make it to morning, what have I done to them?

There is complexity here, in the un-doable nature of mothering and the joy or guilt that is birthed in it's midst. It is intoxicating as much as it is terrifying and it is permanent as much as it is ephemeral--we mothers create the ripples that are the life force, the movement, the stirrings of civilization.