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Tug of War – Mommy vs Mommy

It’s 8:30pm. I’m lying with my five year-old at bedtime. After a few minutes of snuggling, I try to leave, but he begs, “One more minute!” So I stay a minute more, growing restless. Again, I kiss him goodnight, and he pleads for more time. I leave, but five minutes later, I return for one more minute.

It’s 9:15pm. My 8 year-old wants tickle back, which I do, but then he wants longer, which I do, but when he whines for more, I kiss his head, and say, “That’s it babe, time for bed.” Immediately he squeals his offense and huddles under his blanket to ward off any of my gentle advances for a good night. I sigh, pat his blanketed back and leave. Five minutes later I return for one last minute of tickles.

It’s 9:45pm. My 11 year-old in bed declares he’s starving.

“Mommy has closed up shop for the night.” I say firmly.

“But I’m hungry,” he whines.

“Baby, I asked you an hour ago.” I whine.

He looks down at his belly and gives me a cock-eyed grin. “It’s rumbling, mommy.”

I go down and cut him an apple.

Finally, I get to the couch where my husband rests comfortably, baseball on the TV, laptop on the lap. I sit my tired ass down and begin to speak, probably for the first time of the day to my husband, but we’re interrupted by a small voice from upstairs.

“Mama.” We hear, and both roll our eyes.

“Mommy’s busy!” My husband calls up. “Go to sleep.”

It’s quiet for a minute, but then we hear it again. “Mama.”

“Go on,” my husband says, as annoyed by their constant need of me as my babying, “You know you have to.”

I take a deep breath. He’s right. There’s no way I can ignore him, even though I really want to. I race upstairs and into the room calling Mama. Tonight it’s my 11 year-old but it could have easily been any of them.

“One more hug.” He says, sleepily, and I melt into his warm body for a sweet moment.

I leave and head back downstairs, exhausted from the constant push and pull, both physically and emotionally. I wonder why I can’t stick to my guns without shooting myself in the foot? Why I must always soften any tough talk with a batch of fresh cookies? I am a jumble of contradictions and the biggest one is that I often complain that I’m not everyone’s bitch, when clearly I willingly am.

“I could really use some pretzels.” My husband hints, not at all subtly.


He lifts his brows to give me a pleading, goofy look, not so unlike his son’s.

“Arrgh! Get it yourself!” I yell as I make my way to the kitchen, grab the bag from the closet, stomp back into the living room and toss them at his chest.

“Thank you.” I hear as I head upstairs, hoping not to feel another tug at my heart to do anything for anyone. This rope is going to bed, before it strangles someone.

rope 2

Linking up with YW, then taking a couple of weeks off.

Can you tell I need them? 😉

See youuuuu in Septemberrrrr….  xo