You’re Ruining the Mood

Jumping on the trampoline while trying to catch a football was the hit for the weekend. My oldest was so excited to play after school, ‘Mom, you’ll throw the ball to me when I get home?’ Yup. Sounds good. Can’t wait.

He got home, had a snack (aka dinner #1), and then immediately started asking when I’d be done working.

I told him 3:30.

And I knew damn well he was going to watch that clock because he had been thinking about this all day.

Sure enough, 3:30 rolls around and I’m trying to quietly squeeze in a few more minutes on my computer.

Nope.

“Mom, it’s 3:30. Let’s go!”

And I knew if I suddenly changed the plan, his whole mood was going to shift.

To him, this was the plan.

Something he had looked forward to all day at school.

Playing football with his mom.

So I shut the computer and went outside.

But if I’m being completely honest, what I actually wanted to do was curl up on the couch and close my eyes while the baby was napping. I was tired.

My body was outside throwing the football, but my attitude clearly hadn’t made it out there yet.

And my son felt it.

Finally he looked at me and said:

“This is supposed to be a fun time and you’re ruining it. You’re ruining the mood.”

Oof.

He was right.

Not in a “Mom, entertain me every second of the day” kind of way.

But in a, you said you’d be here, so be here kind of way.

I looked at him and said, “You’re right.”

Because someday he won’t be watching the clock waiting for me to finish work.

Someday he won’t be begging me to come outside.

Someday throwing a football with Mom probably won’t sound nearly as exciting.

So we played.

He jumped on the trampoline, practiced catches, ran around, laughed, got some exercise — and somewhere along the way, my tiredness stopped being the biggest thing in the moment.

I started enjoying him.

That’s something I keep learning about motherhood.

Sometimes our kids don’t need more of our time. They need us to actually be inside the time we already promised them.

We’re allowed to be tired.

We’re allowed to want the couch.

We’re allowed to have work running through our heads and a million things waiting for us inside.

But every once in a while, our kids will call us out and remind us:

Hey Mom. You’re here, but you’re not really here.

And maybe instead of getting defensive, we listen.

We close the computer.

We throw the football.

We laugh a little louder.

Healing starts at home.