Imperfection

Today, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

You came running out of your room, all excited and babbling and talking at the top of your lungs. And I yelled at you to be quiet, because Mommy's head hurt and I couldn't stand the noise.

You played together, making all sorts of messes and noise, and I yelled at you to knock it off. Because my head was pounding and I couldn't take the noise.

You ran through the house to your room, whooping the whole way, and I yelled at you to keep it down. Because my head was pounding, and the nose was too much for me.

You pestered me to let you watch Winnie the Pooh on Netflix on the computer, and I let you. Then I yelled at you both because one of you touched a button and shut the computer off and I had to do everything all over again. And then the audio was going faster than the video, and I got irritated with you when you kept asking me what was wrong with your movie, and I yelled at you again. Because I had a headache, and no patience.

You asked me fifteen times in a row (I counted) for juice. And fourteen times, I answered yes. The fifteenth time, I whipped around from the counter where I was pouring  your juice and snapped at you to quit asking me because you could quite plainly see I was in process of getting you your juice. I know exactly why you were doing it-it's something you've always done and probably will always do. It's part of your autism, and I know that. But today, for a moment, I forgot, and I snapped, because I am tired and my head hurts and I don't have any patience.

And then you crawled up onto my lap, put your little arms around my neck and said "Kaikai sorry for being naughty, Mom."

And I realized what message I've been sending you all morning.

You are a 3 year old autistic boy. Your brother is a one and a half year old little boy learning about the world from you, and from me. Neither of you meant to annoy me, or provoke me, or make my pounding head hurt even more.

Yet I was acting like you were the worst children on the planet, like my exhaustion and headache and irritability was all your fault.

I'm sorry, my sweet boys.

You are not naughty. You are good boys who happen to have a mom having a bad day today, and I thoughtlessly took it out on you.

I'm going to let you in on a universal truth about parents: We are not perfect. We do not know everything. We make mistakes. We get crabby and irritable, and we snap at those who don't deserve it.

That doesn't make it okay. Just like when you are having a bad day and you decide to take it out on me or your brother and you get in trouble, Mom shouldn't take it out on you either. And I believe if I'm going to give you consequences when you do it, then I deserve consequences when I do it.

So, my little men, your imperfect, flawed mother is going to give herself a consequence. Beyond apologizing to you both for being crabby to you and yelling at you when I shouldn't have, Mommy is going to go pay the Mom Jar. Remember the jar we started a while ago for when Mom yelled more than she should have? Mom has to pay a dollar when I yell too much. Remember? Well, now Mom's going to pay that jar five dollars-one for each instance this morning when I took my crabbiness, irritability, and headache out on you. And then, when we go to pick up your aunt this afternoon, we're going to take that jar to the store. And you are each going to pick something out for yourselves.

Not because I want to buy your forgiveness for my imperfection, or because I want to bribe you.

Because you deserve to know that you are good boys, and good boys get rewarded for their behavior.

For putting up with my attitude this morning, and for trying to apologize for what you didn't do, you have more than earned a reward.