From Adoration to Despair

Let me ask you: how many minutes of annoyance does it take to ruin a day? Like if you had a wonderful day - great breakfast, productive workday, fun lunch with colleagues, sun shining and birds singing - and then you stop by the store and the clerk is really annoyingly slow. You won't notice because you're so cheerful. How about if you then walk to your car and something else annoying happens, like you find that a bird has left it's mark on your car. You are so positive that you make a barely audible sigh and then get in your car. How about if someone then cuts you off in traffic. Kinda impolite of them. Then you get home and find that you forgot your window open and it's really cold. Then you find that the milk package in your grocery bag has broken and gotten everything messy. Slowly, minute by minute, it destroys every ounce of optimism and all you can do is stare at your computer screen with an angry look like you're considering punching it.

Of course it's quite unlikely that a person who is in control of their own life really has those days very often. Sure, everyone occasionally gets caught in rain with no umbrella or has other rare circumstances ruin an otherwise good day. But those who are not in control of their own lives - PARENTS - can always count on something horrible happening. Back to the first question - how many minutes of annoyance does it take to ruin a day - I would say the answer is over 60 on a good day. If I really wanted to know, I could start timing it every work day. I'm speaking of picking the kids up from kindergartens (notice the plural).

This is how it goes: I'm energetic and enthusiastic and laughing at something a colleague said   and then get my coat and get in my car. I'm cheerfully humming on my way to Liisa's kindergarten. hmmm-hmm...  In 10 minutes I get there and find Liisa. She cheers and rushed to hug me while saying, "Mommy!". Aww, so cute. "Come on Liisa, lets get you dressed, let's go pick up Siiri. She says, "NO", laughes and starts climbing around, while I say things like, "Oh Liisa, we really should get going. Here, look, there's a cat picture here, come here, watch the cat, let me help you with the sweater.." "NO"  she suddenly yells and happily runs away again. I get too warm and kind of dehydrated in my coat and increasingly annoyed. She's kind of being cute too, so I fool myself into imagining that it's cute in stead of annoying as hell (Plus it would look really bad if I lost my temper in the kindergarten). It takes about 10-40 minutes before we can step out. I never know how long it will be. Usually by the time we walk out the door, it's been about 40 minutes since I left work

Then we SLOOOOWLY walk into the car. I don't notice the speed as much as I did when Siiri was that age, but it's slow enough that old people in wheelchairs would pass us by. We stop every few steps so Liisa could wave to the moon and say, "Bye moon"   and when she sees a tree twig on the ground that she really likes she will go and get it and try to touch all floor tiles with the twig. Then it breaks, she is sad, "Mommy, this" and shows so I could fix it. We find a new twig. We reach the car and she won't get it. In stead she walks back to where she could see the moon so she could go and wave some more. "Bye moon. Bye". Time it ticking by, Siiri is waiting for us. I'm starting to get annoyed. "Come on Liisa. Either you get in the car or I will lift you in your seat myself." She agrees to get in but won't be happy until I have also buckled in her stuffed lion and given her a rock that she saw on the floor of the car (some trophy from an earlier car trip). Finally, we're moving. It has now been nearly 50 minutes.

We drive to the other side of town and get out of the car. "Myself!" she says, and starts to climb out of the car while I stand by the door in the middle of the street during rush hour. I say, "Liisa, let me lift you out. I really don't like standing here." "No! Myself.". So I wait for her to climb out herself, I grab her hand and usher her off the street, closing the car door with my free hand. We go into the second kindergarten and find Siiri. The moment of relief ends within a second. She sees me and yells angrily and somewhat whinily, "I'm not finished playing! I don't want to go now!". Liisa gets her hand free and runs down the corridor, I go get her back, held her around the chest while she wriggles and squeals and I tell Siiri as calmly as possible, "Siiri, we really must get going. Please lets go and get dressed." She pouts for a moment but then puts the toys away and comes with me. She's a really good kid when she's not in the middle of a meltdown.

By that time Liisa has already lost all of her self control. She climbs on the bench, takes someone else's toy and finds a more suitable place for it. "Liisa! Where did you get that?!", I turn to Siiri, who has sat near her outdoor clothes and is playing with a zipper. "Siiri, please start getting dressed. You're certainly big enough to get dressed." She says "help me." I cringe with the feeling of being bullied into doing something that I think is unfair toward me. I remind her of her age. After ten minutes of Siiri trying to convince me that she is unable to get dressed (Not true!), I give up and help her get one leg into her outdoor pants. Liisa uses the distraction and runs out the door and into the corridor. I go after her, "LIISA! Stop!". She doesn't stop and then she starts crying  when I try to pick her up or take her hand so it takes a couple of minutes to convince her to walk back. We get back to Siiri who is again playing with her zipper but now has half a leg in her pants. I think "OH MY GOD!!!!!", but numb down my reactions, I grab Liisa under my arm, hold her put while she tries to wriggle away and run for the door and I help Siiri get dressed with one hand. Yes, she's almost five and although I'm actually more angry at Liisa, I have run out of patience and there is no more cute mother-daughter conversation. We get out the door but getting Liisa back into the car is even worse than the last time.

One and a half to two hours after I cheerfully left work, I finally get home with two kids. They run for the iPad and I have just about the energy to sit somewhere and stare into emptiness feeling utterly hopeless.

But practice makes perfect - when the kids then interrupt me by asking for candy and juice and water, I don't yell at them to leave me alone, like I used to wish I could, I don't even get them water while mumbling, "go get your own damn water, do I look like I am your servant, mumble,mumble...", which I still sometimes feel like doing. Most days I say something like, "Good idea. I want some candy too. Get your blood sugar up, kids, it's good for all of us. Want another candy?"

Our lives are happier even when the kids are ill and I don't have to pick up the kids from two kindergartens. Such routine annoyance that lasts so long each work day affects life quality and overall happiness. And let me tell you the scary part: most of the time if you saw me somewhere with the kids, the kids being all cute, waving to the moon, holding hands with mommy, mom holding the car door while the 2,5 year old climbs in, mom discussing traffic dangers with the 4 year old - I bet you'd think kids are so adorable and my little girls are so pleasantly polite and listening to their mommy.