mrs. bennet

Do you ever have days when you are Mrs. Bennet? All laughs and cheer when agreeable people and easy situations are at hand and then ridiculously dour when things don't go your way? If I was Mrs. Bennet today then Martin was my Wickham. On the day Wickham ran off with Lydia. Like Mrs. Bennet of Wickham, I have been tempted to call Martin a demon from hell sent to ruin us.

Not because Martin is bad. He's no demon; he's an innocent child. But I sometimes feel ruined by him because I simply cannot be a good parent to him all the time. I get so mad, so frustrated, so upset that I feel as crazy as Lizzie's dotty mother. On some days, I feel that his disability - among other things - is a mirror in which I see my worst self. I see the person who yells instead of being patient, the mother who despairs instead of staying hopeful for her kid's sake. If Mrs. Bennet was clueless about her terribleness, I feel constantly in touch with mine.

I know Mrs. Bennet got over her anger with Wickham. Indeed, she fawned over her new son-in-law once he and her daughter were no longer a complete scandal. I'm not there yet. Maybe I'll get there when I experience two days together when Martin doesn't scare the daylights out of me by running into the street. Or when he can brush his teeth more than once without throwing the rinse cup across the bathroom. Or when I can get just one day where I'm off the working-mom clock.

Maybe Mrs. Bennet was so loony because her behavior exempted her from all the expectations the rest of us suffer under? Maybe she was the smart one? I'm getting my smelling salts.