It's not them, it's me.

The last few days it has been terribly difficult to be the momma I want to be.

Typically, I feel very confident in myself. And like 98% of the time, I really feel like I have a grip on this whole parenting thing and am doing it right.

And then my children become possessed.

You laugh. You think I jest.

I dare not.

Just this morning H's head spun around and she spat pea soup everywhere - and that's super impressive - she's never even had pea soup!

But in all seriousness, they're going through a phase. Because when it's your own kids, it's always a phase. Or they're tired. Or hungry. Or getting teeth. Or, or, or...

When it's your own kids, they're never just hellions.

Okay, that's a lie.

They're going through a phase and they're absolute hellions.

Oh my gosh. Pass me a Xanax.

Just kidding. I've never taken a Xanax. But it's getting harder and harder to wait until dinner to open a bottle of wine. So I've been eating copious amounts of dark chocolate for the past four days. My antioxidants are outstanding right now.

Though actually, I've finally gotten this one figured out, too. Mostly.

Hopefully.

H is going through a phase where she's pushing boundaries. Hard. How far can she push until I snap? And I think it frustrates her more, because she's like me, and she's really looking for a reaction. And I'm not giving her the angry reaction she wants.

She even told me yesterday, after taking something from her brother, "I'm being naughty because I want to be!" and stamped her little feet. If I wasn't all ready running on a very thin strand of patience, I might have actually laughed. Instead I just told her that wasn't very kind and we don't use the word "naughty" in this house. She wasn't amused.

And B. Oh, boy. He's discovered the power of whine. No, no, not wine, which I'm truly learning the power of. But whine. It's nowhere near as amazing as wine.

Whining is a developmental achievement, like pushing boundaries, I suppose. Whining is actually supposed to be this super amazing developmental milestone because they're learning the power of manipulation and coercion (and I'm totally making this up).

It closely resembles hell.

Just sayin'.

So, hobbling on my last leg of sanity, I turned the TV on this morning and let them watch it for 5 hours.

Not even kidding. At all.

Me. The person who would annihilate the TV if she could.

They watched ridiculous amounts of Curious George, Dinosaur Train, Daniel Tiger, and Strawberry Shortcake between the hours of 6am and 11am.

And truthfully, I don't feel guilty. Not even remotely.

Because during that time, and the four hours since they abandoned the television to play "store" and "beach party" and "troll hunting" and "camp out" and a million other things, I realized that part of their problem is me.

Yep.

It's me.

While I did the most excruciating part of painting our hallway - the edging - I listened to them and contemplated life; chastised myself for actually yelling at B yesterday (which the thought of still breaks my heart, although I did stop the second I saw his face crumple...that image will be burned in my memory for life), and listened to them play and chatter about.

I'm not what I'd consider a helicopter parent. I mean, I'm a good 10 yards while my kids are climbing Mt. Everest playground equipment and other playground moms are freaking out that they're too small to be climbing and doing the things they're doing. I let them figure out their own quarrels both with each other and other people unless they get physical. I don't really stop them from doing things that make my heart race, even though sometimes I want to. They stir boiling pots and put cookie sheets in preheated ovens. Really, they are not in a bubble - I'm not too helicopterish.

But I'm there.

I know, I know, I'm saying it like it's a bad thing.

But it kind of is.

I mean, they need me there. Here. Within earshot of them. But they don't need me in their faces, constantly playing with and entertaining them.

Sure, yes. Sometimes they do.

But the thing is, they have no problems telling me when they do.

They've grown and become so independent of me. Which is a good thing. But because I'm with them every single second, I didn't notice this happening so outright.

And now they need time without me. Time where I'm cooking or painting or reading a book and they're just playing without me playing, too.

And this really is oh-so appealing to me, because I just bought a Nook and really want to put it to good use. But on the same hand, it's kind of sad. Because they're totally not babies anymore.

Not remotely.

And they're pushing and whining in an effort to say, "Hey, Mom! We're not babies. Let us be all ready. We'll holler when we need you."

I like playing with them. I like tea parties and dress up and baking cookies and building forts. But now they can do those things mostly all on their own. And I'm sure there will be times they want me to play, too, but for now, they're telling me to just butt out.

Because I've fed them today. That's about the extent of our interaction. I played the "ugly troll" while painting and occasionally roared at them when they'd come tip-toeing up the stairs, and they'd flee giggling.

And that's it. That's all they want from me right now.

Because today they've not been perfect. H is still pushy, B is still whiney, but compared to the previous three days, they're saints. So it's pretty obvious that there is no exorcism needed.

And that sometimes in parenting it's not them, it's me.