*Losing the Battle AND the War

 I debated whether or not to write about this.  There are certain rights my children have to privacy.  On the other hand, writing is therapy.  And this blog is called "An Attempt", because that's what my life, and especially my parenting is.  Anything loftier would be a boldfaced lie.  Obviously, writing won, because half a box of Cheez-Its is not good therapy.  And I was beginning to eye the truffles Jeff brought back from his last trip.

My kids are neurotic.  They have many wonderful qualities, but they are neurotic.  And they tag team.  They don't just have little bouts of neurosis together and get it over with: one has a long, dragged out weird stage, and just as we figure out how to make it through, the other one starts in with a new one.  

Anna, at the moment, is neurotic about what she wears. Nothing "feels right" to her.  It literally takes me an hour to get through the dressing process in the morning. She can physically get herself dressed, but I have to make all kinds of adjustments because she can feel that shirt on her belly, the waistband is not perfectly in sync with the underwear waistband , and the line on her socks is bugging her toes.  She cries and throws fits and tries on endless combinations of outfits, and I cut tags out of clothing and explain the benefits of each article of clothing.  One is too tight, and the other one she can feel on her legs.  She is predisposed to pink and dresses, but even those qualities don't always stand the test.  

She's starting to apply this to food as well.  Her range of foods eaten is beginning to shrink.  She also acts like she is getting a limb severed without painkillers if she gets a "boo-boo".  She bawls if I comb her hair, and she has suggested giving up brushing her teeth and bathing.  If she wasn't the most socially adjusted child I've ever met, I would at this point be suspecting a sensory disorder.  This stuff completely paralyzes her and wears her out too.  But she just can't help herself.  All day, every day is a fight.  Maybe she'll be out of this in June?  Last May was month of the at least an hour long, 2 to 3 per day demon-possessed fits.  

I wish I could say that through all this I am eternally patient and am getting to the bottom of why this is going on.  I have zero patience for this in reality, and it takes every fiber of my being not to scream.  And sometimes what comes out of my mouth is very close to a scream anyway.  

Last week I did something I was good at and it felt so ... good.  Affirming.  I didn't need anyone to tell me I did a good job; I just knew this was something that fell in the area of my natural abilities.  It was work, but rewarding and satisfying.  I realized later with a sinking feeling how ill-suited I am to mothering.  How hard and relentless this job is.  I can work and try and it exhausts me like nothing else and there's never a break and I'm always failing.  If I happen to have a breakthrough and an understanding, a new challenge arises and I'm flat on my back again.

 The most defeating thing is that these are my KIDS, the most important people in the world to me. Those stakes are so high.  I love them.  I don't want to hurt them or mess them up.  They need to feel secure and valued.  They need to acquire skills to make it as successful adults in this world.  I would even like to dare to hope for a friendly relationship with them in their adulthood.  Because though neurotic, they are great people.  

I'm going back to attempting to make it through this day.  Please hide the Cheez-Its and chocolates and don't dare bring any alcohol around.  And also, please forget all about this post.