|Well, at least there's still hope for me as Mother of the Year|
Quit being a mom.
With only one kid at home now, you'd think things would be easier. But no. I had one kid who was playing a stupid passive-aggressive game of "Let's tell mom things I never told her before and then when she gets upset, tell her she's being crazy." I had another kiddo (the one who is still at home) who needed a re-run lesson on "Please tell us where you are and who you are with, just as a point of courtesy." And for the finale, another installment of "Remember, you're not talking to the kid; you're talking to the addiction."
I was done. Pounding my head against the wall seemed to be more productive. And less painful.
My sister said I couldn't quit, but she did give me a bit of time off. Not much, though.
My kids are no longer kids, but they are not adults either. They are not all ready to take responsibility, to recognize their own methods of self-destruction, or keep a plant alive. That's ok - except when it's not. And Dear Husband and I are still expected to pick up the pieces (or shards of glass).
We had a "Come To Jesus" chat with one child: no more money. None. If you need shoes, we will buy you shoes. If you need food, we will buy you food. But no one here is under any illusion on what you'll do with cash, so you're not getting anymore.
I had to tell another kid: Hey, newsflash: Mom is human. Quit treating her like your own emotional punching bag.
For now, I'm trying a new tactic. (I don't know how long I'll be able to hold out, as I'm Irish.) I'm keeping my mouth shut (other than the occasional "Oh, uh-huh" or "Yes, I see...) and I'm just praying. And praying. And praying.
One of the treasures my mom left me is an old prayer book for mothers. She marked a few - apparently she wanted to quit a few times as well. And those prayers are coming in handy. Other times I just look up at Jesus' precious face on the crucifix and say, "This problem is yours now."
I still might quit. But not today. At least not today.