The Witching Hour

  

Sometimes as mothers, there are things for which we have no answers. Things we simply cannot figure out no matter how hard we try.

But sometimes, even though it may be wrong in a misery-loves-company sort of way, it makes us feel better to know that other moms are in one of these trenches suffering with us.

Or at least to imagine in our minds that they are- that we aren't the only ones.

I choose to believe that I'm not the only one whose hour after bus drop off is not one big tooth-gritting, chest tightening, semi panic attack, homework-apocalypse.

Let me explain.

First off, of COURSE I'm glad to see my children. It's not that at all. But there is something about the after school frenzy that makes me want to put a margarita into one of those obnoxious helmets with swirly straws that feed straight down your throat.

Of course I've never done that. But my kids aren't in high school yet...

Here is how it plays out.

I think perhaps they come in the door all tired of being calm and structured. There is a kicking off of the shoes and a slinging of the backpacks. Also, everyone enters the premises as if they have just been granted the Survivor feast after a week of fasting in the Congo. Dirty hands foraging through pantries and picking through cellophane. Apparently six years of telling them to wash their hands right when they walk in the door after school has not been absorbed by any of their neural transmitters.

Then there is the dog who usually grabs one of their shoes in his mouth and runs with it, just to make me scream. Every. Single. Day.

There is the talking over each other. There is the, "Can I go to (insert name)'s house?" or "Can (insert name) come over?" And randomness, "How long is an airplane ride from here to Louisiana?"

"But you need to do your homework."

"But I told (insert name) I was coming over."

Then, I am trying not to bark, "Well, by all means if you TOLD him then please go!!!!! There will be *plenty* of time for you to study for your subject-predicate test when you are both thirty on your moms' couches while we do your laundry because you wanted to hang with friends before you did your HOOOMMMEEEEWWWOORRKKK!

Yes, I'm exaggerating. 

My children make good grades. And sometimes after school I do feel a bit like Monica on that Friends episode where she is instructing everyone on how to correctly snap the tops on their Crayola markers.

I admit I have never been accused of being too laid back...

Especially not about school.

That would be my husband who said hello and hugged my child's teacher at the ballpark and didn't realize it was his last year's teacher. But I digress...

I'm a substitute teacher, for crying out loud. And I can calmly help someone struggling with reading or math with flying colors. I am the epitome of patience!

But when I am sitting there with my own child and he is reading to me and randomly throwing in words THAT ARENT EVEN THERE like he is on stage at Live at the Improv, I literally want to curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb.

I think it's because we CARE soooooo much. We want them to thrive, and be successful, and be all that we know they can be. And we want them to WASH THEIR HANDS for crying out loud and not get strep on the third week of school!!!! 

And the knocks on the door, and the needing to start supper, and the dog barking at every person that walks by...well, that can only add to the fun.

Thankfully, after the witching hour, everything seems to settle down.

It's that one hour. And certainly I'm not the only one. Hopefully. Bueller?Lie to me if you must.

I have a friend who used to loudly sing whenever she got frustrated at her children. She figured that was better than yelling and provided a better memory for her kids. She may be on to something. 

But I'm not sure my scary mom face while belting out, "Come On Eileen" won't be a one-way ticket into therapy.

As moms, sometimes is hard not to care so much. It's hard to relax, go with the flow, and let the chips fall where they may.

I'm working on a "system" for after school. However, suffice it to say this system has been in the making for years.

But maybe just knowing there are other moms out there, feeling the same way, gritting their teeth, hair sticking to the back of their sweaty necks as they trudge through homework apocalypse every day, is a good place to start.

Semper Fi, Mom soldiers.

Subject and predicate onward.