My Family Won't Stop Asking Me Questions, and It's Driving Me Insane
I am the Wizard of Mom. In my family, I'm the only person who can provide the answers to life's most important questions like, “Mom, what's for dinner?” or “Honey, have you seen my wallet?” or “Mom, does Chewbacca like cheese crackers?” And I often answer all of these questions while napping, showering, or taking part in other bathroom activities, like pooping.
Rarely do I have a moment to myself, because the questions are never-ending. They’ve even started invading my dreams, with Chewbacca appearing to ask me what’s for dinner and if I’ve seen his wallet. My brain is in serious need of a break — but I have yet to figure out how to take care of myself while also taking care of my family.
I’m not sure how I became the person with all the answers, but I definitely know when the questions started. At first, after my husband and I were married, we worked together to figure out the answers. But once I gave birth everything changed. He started deferring to my motherly instincts. Maybe it was because my body created our baby, or maybe it was because I read that one book on parenting, but my brain did make remarkably fast decisions — mostly so I could go back to sleep. I took the lead and my one brain took care of all of us.
“Have you seen my wallet?” my husband yells in a panic.
I point to the pantry. His face reads confused, but sure enough, his wallet is there next to the potato chips. He smiles his thanks and before I can smile back I hear, “Mom, why don’t robots turn into people?” I take a breath and begin to answer my 5-year-old.
My response to my kid’s question rivals the best of sci-fi plots. His eyes are fixed on mine, and this intimate moment reminds me why I continue to answer all these crazy questions: Taking care of my family makes my heart happy. I can feel the trust being woven deeper between us, and I’m grateful I can contribute in a way that connects us.
I only wish I could remember how to connect to myself. My waking hours have taken on a hurried momentum of their own, sweeping me away in a river of questions that never stop. I need to find a way to give my brain a vacation, and hiding in the bathroom isn’t working anymore.
When I try to steal some uninterrupted time to reboot, I’m interrupted. Taking a walk by myself, my phone reminds me that I’m not alone. A mere 49 seconds after I’ve left our house, it starts beeping incessantly. I imagine ghastly scenarios, all involving glitter and macaroni, as I quickly pull my cell out of my pocket. I read a long thread of texts about how my son can’t find his yogurt and my husband can’t find our refrigerator.
Really, I should try and find the humor in all of this ridiculousness, but my overworked brain can’t find my funny bone. I feel my chest tighten and my patience shorten as I text back. All I wanted was a tiny break and now that it’s slipped from my grasp, my brain is reeling with responses that are far from helpful. I fantasize about telling my family that I can’t give them an answer because Chewbacca has eaten all the yogurt — and all the wallets, and my phone.
Is my building frustration a signal that it’s time to let my kid (and his dad) discover their own solutions? Now that my son is fast approaching 6, there are instances where I wonder if I’m doing my little guy a disservice by providing all the answers. Running down the hall half-naked he shouts, “Mom, I can’t find my pants!” When I don’t instantly provide him with the answer and encourage him to look for his own clothes instead, he counters with, “I want you to do it.” I love my kid and I love being helpful, so I stop mid-bed-making, sheet-folding, or lunch-making to trudge down the hall and help. The thing is, I’d like to raise an independent and self-sufficient male — not one who can’t find his socks on his own feet.
So, maybe allowing my family to find some of their own answers might not be the worst solution. The scary part is I’d have to remove myself from many of their everyday cheese-cracker conundrums and set some healthy limits.
I’d have to practice new game-changing phrases like, “You can figure this out,” and then let them. I haven’t been able to because I’m horrible at setting boundaries for myself — even when I desperately need them. Clearly, my need to put my family first and feel that I’m being the best most helpful mother on the planet is what’s keeping this questionable pattern in place.
With my head working for three it’s been a bit of a brainteaser figuring out a solution, but the truth is I need to work on setting some healthy limits. My frustration and my family’s seeming ineptitude are showing me that being the only one with all the answers isn’t the best answer. I love that my family trusts me to know everything, but I need them to learn to trust themselves. It’s time to let my little guy (and my grown husband) find their own solutions. So I can connect to my own brain again. I know that I won’t stop taking care of my family, but I am going to start taking care of myself — and that’s a great answer for all of us.
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