not the person I want to be

I got an early Christmas present yesterday, a new espresso maker that Jo found on woot.com for about $300 off retail. And I'm trying to learn how to use it today. It requires a bit of coordination and I don't like how it froths milk because it makes gigantic bubbles in the milk. But it makes lovely crema on the espresso.

T wanted a hot chocolate. I wanted a latte. I said to him that after we ate our apple, we could try out the new coffeemaker.

Is there any child out there who listens to you when you say "I want you to watch"?

Before I was out there, he was up on the stool with the coffee scoop/tamper. He wanted to stir up the coffee beans in the grinder. Compromise #1 was struck: I ground the beans into a bowl and he scooped them into the filter. Making a big mess in the process, of course. We tamped the grounds together. He wanted to continue scooping things with the scoop and he also wanted to put it in his mouth. Just. watch. please. - but no, the bowl with about a tablespoon of grounds ended up on the floor and I was very grateful that it didn't break.

Oh look! the coffeemaker has buttons. Can I press this one [press]? Please leave the buttons alone [press to turn power back off] since I'm not ready yet. This one? This one? This one? What does this knob do? What does this do (violently yank on steam tube)?

Just. watch. please. I'm just learning how to do it myself.

Coffee got made. That inspired an ooh and an aah. Now to steam the milk. MILK! Let's put coffee grounds IN THE MILK. And then stir it with the coffee scoop. And of course I got fed up with the frother because it made gigantic bubbles which makes it really hard to steam the coffee up to the correct temperature without it overflowing the pitcher. So I'm getting stressed trying to steam this without making a mess, and he has to be holding onto my arm the whole time.

And I manage then to both knock the frothed milk pitcher (with very poorly frothed milk because it grew too big with the gigantic bubbles before I could get it hot enough) and his cup on the floor.

There is really no serious attachment to this cup, although it was special; it was a china cup with Jemima Puddleduck from the Beatrix Potter stories on it. It was a gift from Jo's aunt. It broke into several pieces, and then I broke into several pieces and suddenly found myself yelling "DAMMIT!".

Yep, calm, cool and collected, that's me.

And then my dear son, who obviously gets his way of dealing with unhappy situations from me, responds in kind, thankfully not yelling 'dammit' at the top of his lungs but griping about the cup and somehow my whole upset rant became all about trying to froth milk and having to fend him off of me and the machine and the milk and the cups and all I'm trying to do is make him happy and all I want is to be a good mother, that's really all I want is to be a good mother, and all of a sudden I am bawling on the kitchen floor while I'm trying to mop up frothed milk and shards of china.

And he keeps ranting and saying stuff, and I said listen, if you wanted to make me feel better, all you'd have to say is 'but you are a good mother'.

And he dutifully piped up and said it, but I don't know if I believe it.

I seem to not be able to learn to not have this hair trigger, to not respond to accidents with exasperation (like the dumping of the milk glass which never really seems to be an accident but always a result of him always having to goof around at the table), to not attribute my dumb mistakes (knocking china cups on floor) to him just because he's in the proximity or part of the activity. I can't step back and see "wow, he's such a curious kid, he wants to try everything out himself and be in the thick of things, and he is smack dab in the middle of his imitative stage" and appreciate the fact that he wants to do it all for himself; I just see it as a hindrance and frequently a nuisance.

A book I've read said "take the time in difficult situations to imagine how you want yourself to react, and then react that way" - which sounds so easy. The kid knocks over his milk glass and you stop, take a breath and say "how do I want to remember myself behaving when I look back on this later?" and then you calmly clean up the milk. But somehow, it's not that easy; in fact, it seems to be a big enough challenge that I can't manage to do it hardly ever.

Just another one of those days where I look at my sleeping son after he's gone to bed and apologize to him with tears running down my face because I feel like he deserves better than what I give him.