When My Filter Works

I’m a bit of a control freak—no secret there. With years of experience, I’ve learned to moderate it to a point where it’s useful. Most of the time. A lot of times, this means the script running through my head is NOT what I let out of my mouth. I’ve learned to filter.

As a control-freaky parent, my thoughts often sound like those annoying insurance commercials. I won’t say “the ones I love to hate” because it’s more like “the ones I’m comfortable and familiar with hating.” To be a little more descriptive, I’m talking about the ones that conclude, “Don’t get caught in your boxers during rush hour.” Or “Don’t let leprechauns eat your cereal.” Or something like that.

Today at lunch, I cheerfully told Little A., “Eat up—it’s getting late.” He looked at me with the deep thoughts visible behind his big brown eyes and said, “Why do you always say that, Mommy?”

What went through my mind, before filtering:

• Because if you don’t hurry up and eat your yogurt squeezer, pb&j (in triangles, no crust), 37.5 craisins (each of which looks like something and needs to be shown to me), apple boat, apple canoes, milk, and dessert…
• Then you won’t go to your room to play until late…
• I won’t get to start work until late…
• I won’t get as much done before we have to wash the car and go to the bus stop…
• I’ll be stressed all during dinner and bedtime—well, never mind that. I’m always stressed then.
• I’ll have to stay up late working after you go to bed…
• I won’t get much sleep…
• I’ll oversleep and I won’t get to run and my contacts will feel sticky and I’ll give S. the wrong yogurt because I can’t see and then I’ll drop a plate because I’m tired…
• I’ll start the day being Grumpy Mommy.

Don’t make me drop plates and be Grumpy Mommy.

What came out of my mouth, after filtering:

“Do I always say that? Sorry. I guess I just want to get to work.”

This kind of feeds into a theory of mine. You know how babies always wake up smiling, cooing, and laughing? When S. used to do that, Big A. (philosophical guy that he is) asked me at what age people stop waking up happy. At the time, I had a six-month-old, so I just said, “I dunno” and wandered off to do laundry.

A couple of years later, S. started school and we had another baby. We started to be late for everything, and S. understood the concept of “late.” And, about then, I noticed that she stopped waking up smiling.

Deep thoughts. Definitely something to think about in our over-scheduled world.