No rest for the weary OR why do we let people make us feel bad?

I am weary. I love that expression - "No rest for the weary." I've also heard it said that there is "no rest for the wicked." While I admit to both, I can never remember to Google it to actually find out which is the real version. While I had the utmost intention of writing about our weekend trip for a life cycle event, things took a turn for the different this afternoon.

First let me start by saying that we had a great family trip to Dallas for my brother-in-law's 40th and sister-in-law's 39th - okay, I know that sound physically impossible: the brother is Shelby's step and sister is biological. Anyway, the kids had a great time playing with the cousins and the adults had a great time visiting and debating current events after the kids went to bed. When we got home, the five of us sat down for pizza and a double header of Toy Story 1 & 2. Before I got into bed, I did the usual rounds of checking for blankets, lovies, and shifting them from those sleep positions that I maternally just know will create bizarre deformities in the future. In the quiet of the night, I said a quick prayer to count my blessings. Time flies so fast and, in the blink of an eye, they are grown. As parents, we really have to cherish the moments that life brings.

For my children's sake, they are lucky I had that epiphany last night. That sentence of the last paragraph became my mantra this afternoon. I swear that if someone had knocked on my door this evening and given me a descent offer on the little dervishes, the only question I would have had was "Pickup or delivery?" Let me explain.

It is summer camp time and everyone and their brother needs a health report before accepting the little heathens. According to my pediatrician, I inadvertently forgot to schedule my middle child, Simon's, annual exam around his b-day in January. So I had to bring him in... Well, since I had been in and out of work for the better part of last week driving everyone all over hell and half of Georgia, I scheduled this for 3:45 - after work for me - and just when everyone morphed into super pain in the nether regions.

So I get to the doc's office with all 3 lovely children and all hell ensues. The doctor, an orthodox Jew of grandfatherly age, comes in. I have to preface this with the whole "he-totally-makes-me-want-to-be-the-perfect-parent-type-thing." He has something like 4 kids who I imagine to be this Norman Rockwellesque type family that always sits down to dinner together and the children have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for their parents. And what happens? Simon throws a fit because I take away his car at exam time, Christopher narcs on everyone that the 2 of them have 3 chocolate sandwiches for lunch (Nutella really should be a food group), and Alex decides to go ballistic because I run out of the gumdrops I have been feeding him to keep him quiet. The nurse determines that no shots are necessary but Simon does need to "pee in a cup" and proceeds to cajole him with an impromptu pee-in-the-cup song. Weeeelllll. 2 year old Alex latches on to this like a newborn to a teet. All of a sudden, the only thing he wants to do is pee in a cup - obsessively! I told the nurse that if he peed in his milk cup at dinner I was so coming after her. All the while, the parental doctor is looking on.

So now, six and a half hours later, I pause to reflect. I have to preface this with I sent Simon to the neighbor's to play and they invited them to dinner*, I have finished my statistics class for the evening and have no energy to think of anything anyway remotely analytical, and have just poured a glass of wine. Where was I? Ah, yes, reflection. Why on earth did I let that doctor, who I TOTALLY respect and trust make me feel this way? Was it my own insecurities as a parent or was I caving to what I thought this person wanted? Periodically, I find myself doing this. However, I know that at the end of the day my kids are intrinsically good. They volunteer, they show compassion and remorse, and they don't retaliate when Alex beats the bejeebers out of them! So why do I let someone else make me feel like poo? The take-away is this - let it go. At the end of the day, we ARE weary. Weary from being there, weary from being a bus service, weary from being a referee, weary from being the best parent we can possibly be. And you know what? In the long run, our kids will turn out just fine. That's we average parents do. And that is more than fine!

*We are blessed with the most amazing neighbors. They have a son who is the same age as Simon but somehow have managed to incorporate all of my children into their lives and household. Our children are interchangeable geographically speaking - you never know within whose house they will be. Somehow, they have been able to overlook my poor parenting and love me anyway. They are truly a gift from G-d!