THAT ONE SUMMER I LOST MY SH*T ON MY KIDS

Sitting in our surprisingly clean living room, I watch the morning sun filter through the trees and into our home. My oldest quietly reads in her room while her brother sleeps. I love these mornings. I force myself to get up early to enjoy this extra time by myself. I have my coffee, surf the internet, and reflect on whatever comes to mind.

Today I'm taking stock of our summer.

School starts soon, and my kids have been like two little peas in a pod... you know, the kind who snuggle and play but also knock each other in the back of the head for no reason. It's been a good summer. I feel like we had the perfect balance of lazy, playfully, and productive. But the other day, something happened to change how I parent from this moment forward.

I totally lost my sh*t on my kids.

Before I share my less-than-stellar mommy moment, let me back up a bit — in June, I spied my little darlings in the corner of the yard wallowing in mud and dirt. They discovered the joys of making mud pies, and the "everything in its place" mama in me had a tiny minor seizure. However, the little-seen "oh hey, let's relax a little and have some fun" mama in me was delighted!

Mud pies are a hallmark of childhood! Let them play! It's just mud. A little soap and water answers any objections my "everything in its place" side of me might have (I need a name for her... I'm open to suggestions. Margo? Cindy? Agnus?).

My crazy babies made a daily habit of mud pie-making. So much so they opened up a store. Need a mud pie? What size? I'm sure they have one. What about a mud cookie or mud cake? There are no limits to these creative dirt bakers.

Initially, I treasured their joy of squishy mud, but my "hey, it's no big deal" loosey-goosey attitude faded after two months of daily dirt play.

And this is where my less-than-stellar-mommy-moment comes in...

As my kids grabbed their flip-flops and headed outside, I hollered from the depths of my office, "we leave in 20 minutes... no water!" But apparently, I wasn't clear enough (loud enough?).

Stepping outside, keys in hand ready to dash off, I stopped in my tracks. My little angles with mud up to their armpits huddled over the hose, oblivious to their rule-breaking.

I snapped. Totally. I started huffing and puffing and throwing my arms in the air to emphasize my mommy rant. What on earth were they thinking?! Didn't I JUST tell them not to play with the water? We had to be at soccer practice, and I didn't have an extra 10 minutes to clean them up. I'm tired of being late. This is ridiculous!

And that's when it hit me. I stopped my mommy rant. I stepped back inside the house and took a deep breath (okay, several). I knew I had said enough... by the looks on their shocked little faces; they knew they had broken the rules—even before I said anything. So did I really need to scold them? No. But I did need to clear the air.

After a few minutes of sorting out my emotions, I realized I wasn't mad about the mud. I was upset they had slowly spent the summer learning to tune me out. I was losing my mommy edge. My kids stopped paying attention to what I said, and I was felt completely disrespected.

Okay. That I can deal with.

I headed back outside with some wet towels and sat on the porch to wipe down my muddy little chickens. I explained to them why I was upset and apologized for reacting the way I did. I can't take it back. What's done is done. But I can help them understand why I lost my cool and hopefully help them understand their own emotions by explaining mine.

Here's where it gets interesting.

The second I told them why I did what I did and how I was feeling, every ounce of mommy guilt that had been building up for the last 15 minutes vanished.

Disappeared.100% gone.

My goal was to let them know I'm human, but I wound up discovering that taking a moment to realize why I'm acting a certain way is far more important than how I was acting.

I'm not a super mom. Let's face it, none of us are. And when we make mistakes, we have a chance to learn from them. Isn't this what we try to teach our children? Then why don't we afford ourselves the same freedom?

If we allow (or force) ourselves to step away from an ugly, mommy-guilt building moment and look at WHY we are behaving this way, we shift the focus from what we are doing to why we are doing it.

When we understand the why behind our behavior, it's easier to forgive ourselves.

Talking about it with your kids furthers that forgiveness, and ultimately you'll realize there is no room for guilt. Not when your kids understand you're human.

We're good moms... not-so-stellar-mommy-moments included. 

P.S.  I didn't really discover the joys of playing in the mud until my sophomore year in college — mud football was one of the crazy things I did in my 20's.

The "other" crazy thing involves chugging a Three Wise Men at La Estralita in downtown Boulder. And no. You don't get to see photos from that debacle... it ain't pretty.