Dr. Jeckle and Mrs. Hyde

Husband and I have a running joke. If I am cleaning or I have decided to paint a room we say "I hope the new owners will like this color." or "The new owners better appreciate me cleaning the toilet so thoroughly." What new owners? you may be asking yourslef. No, we are not selling our house. I don't plan on moving. However, when my mortgage switches over in 2010, Wells Fargo might be forcing us to move. See, we are one of a zillion families in this country dealing with money problems. Husband and I have always said we could never fight over money because we simply don't have any to fight over. And we don't fight. I cry, Husband loses a little more hair, and sometimes the kids have to deal with my mounting fear and frustration. It's moments like these that I wish I could stay "Good Mommy" and not turn into "Angry Person."



This morning started off pretty well. The house was (of course) a mess but my plan of action was to do a little yardwork (and therefore getting the kids outside and into the fresh air) and clean tomorrow as the weather will be a bit inclement (and therefore I will be stuck indoors with two crazy children). After I showered and dressed I was making the last trip to the potty when I saw the toilet paper roll was bare. I went to replace the empty roll and found there was only one spare left in the basket. No problem, I foolishly thought, I'll get more downstairs. I make my way down, dodging cars and legos, to the back pantry. Hmmmm. Curious. No extra toilet paper. No matter. I was planning on making a trip to Lowes to price out some flooring anyway. I better just take a peek at my checking account, I thought. Oh the misery that followed...



After crying on the phone to Husband and changing into a worn pair of sweatpants I went into a bit of a frenzy. I scoured the internet looking for possible part time jobs that would allow my to work the other week nights that I am off so the kids wouldn't have to go into childcare that I can't afford anyway. I went out back with a 7 page job application I printed out. The kids were restless, even outside. I know they can sense when there is "a disturbance in the Force." They didn't want to play outside. They wanted to know what I was doing, could they have a snack, when were we going to Target, can their friends come over, can we go back inside and I lost it. I became the kind of person I hate being, A screaming mean banshee of a woman. Yes, we could go back inside, but then we were cleaning. I forced my children to pick up their toys and when they were moving too slow I screamed at them. When they started to play with the very toys they should have been putting away, I screamed at them. When Son started pulling Daughter's hair, I screamed louder and higher pitched. They covered their ears and tears welled in their eyes. It only made me madder. How dare they cry? I just wanted them to put away their 8 million toys that I worked hard to buy for them that they so callously threw all over the room. I wanted them to realize that I didn't want to clean their mess anymore than they did. I just wanted them to stop crying and go to their roooms. I wanted to go into the kitchen and cry. The kids went up to their rooms and I cried and cleaned. After a short time, Daughter came down with 32 cents and handed it to me. "Mommy, will this help us to not be so poor?"



This whole crapstorm started over toilet paper. I flew off the handle and scared my children with my screaming and hurtful words over something that I have done to myself. I don't know what to do about the money problem. I don't know whether or not I will have a home for my children next summer. I do know that taking my fear out on two little babes who have no concept of "rich" or "poor" is unfair. I don't like the person that I was this morning. I don't like seeing the hurt in their eyes and knowing I caused that. I don't want them to being the bearers of my burden. But mostly, I don't like the fear of not being able to provide for them. The fear of not being able to take care of them, to feed them, to dress them, provide warmth, shelter, safety for them, of failing at being a good mother.