The Case For Miss H. & Me.

**In this post, I reference the broadway musical Annie that was adapted into a movie in 1982. Carol Burnett was a master storyteller and a living embodiment of my life. If you haven’t seen it, stop what you're doing right now, and go watch it. You won’t be sorry. Maybe you will... I don’t know, it’s your life.  

There’s this one part on Annie, when all the little lovable and adorable orphans are teasing sweetly as Miss Hannigan disgracefully flirts with the laundry man.

Mean Miss Hannigan’s response to their playful jests was always so appalling to me as a kid... “Kill, kill, kill!!!” She snarled as the innocent orphans scurried away.

I just couldn’t understand why Miss Hannigan was so mean to the orphans. Why couldn’t she just be nice to them? They were orphans! 

Then...

I became a parent.

Now, looking at Miss Hannigan (and those thug orphans) through the lens of parenthood, I’m wondering...

Why couldn’t those rotten little orphans just leave her alone? Why couldn’t she have two minutes of peace to herself? Why did they all have to follow her into every room she entered? Why wouldn’t they stop taunting her in the one moment she had to grasp desperately at womanhood? (And who could blame her because, let’s be honest, who of us wouldn’t flirt with a guy who does laundry?!)

And seriously, why wouldn’t those orphans just do their freaking chores already?!

When Miss Hannigan said she wanted things to “shine” in her angry voice, I’m sure she had already asked them sweetly thirty thousand times to just get it done!

Amiright? 

Annie escaping “to the bathroom” the minute it was time to clean. Sound familiar to anyone else???

I might just be looking for a little validation here because I’m going a little crazy, but I think we need to cut her a little slack. You see, I think Miss Hannigan and I, really aren’t so different… 

My kids, though truly loved, often make me question my life choices. Wanna know what went through my head the other day when I saw how one of those kids had destroyed a favorite piece of furniture? 

KILL, KILL, KILL!!!!

It did! It actually did. 

And then I immediately thought... solidarity Miss Hannigan. Solidarity. 

That “Hannigan" moment (to coin the phrase) got me thinking about how dealing with children all the time can totally shift you as a person. It got me to thinking about what Miss H. might have been like before she started working at the orphanage. 

Maybe she was a teacher or a child psychologist. Maybe she had a degree in early childhood development. She probably grew up wanting kids and had planned to step in as the orphanage matron (orphan president?) so that she could turn things around. Make a difference! I imagine she held on for a while, trying to be positive and optimistic. Maybe as a young woman, she saw herself as someone who could lead and lift generations of strong powerful young women. 

However, as is often the case, slowly (one sleepless night after sleepless night), it got harder and harder to be patient and kind. Before too long the sticky floors, clogged bathroom toilets, and never having a minute to herself... it just... swallowed the delightful optimistic young woman she once was. She became jaded and overwhelmed. I imagine, that at some point she just became too sleep deprived and hungry to be nice anymore. 

It’s not her fault. Kids just naturally bring out the ugliness in us without even trying to. It’s a special gift that every child has. Like factory settings, only more dangerous. We want to uplift and enlighten the children we raise, but then reality is gross, and we wind up settling for... did they eat today? (And if the answer to that is yes, then you aren’t doing too bad, I think!)

Know what else? Maybe Miss Hannigan DID just want the room to shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. Because that orphanage was gross! Because she was losing her mind in the chaos and mess of a billion gross kids. I get that.

She was tired! She needed a break! 

I so, SOOO get that. 

I always want, in my heart, to be the mom I thought I’d be before I had kids, but I’ve accepted that I (as I imagine Miss Hannigan realized at some point), was a crazy kid who didn’t know anything about life, and so I have adjusted my personal expectations accordingly. 

So, in defense of Miss H:

Here’s what we know for sure... Miss Hannigan didn’t really want to kill the orphans. We know this, because of her attempt to save Annie when Rooster tried to actually kill her, putting her own life on the line to save that rotten kid who kicked her- on purpose! In fact, what she said was: “She may be a mean rotten little orphan, but I’m not gonna let you kill her!” See! #unconditionallove 

She loved them. She did!

Likewise, we too love the children we’re raising. We do! We feel connected to these soul stretching little humans! They somehow make us the happiest we’ve ever been and the most insane we’ve ever been in one weird simultaneous moment. (#punchinthefaceandahug) And we don’t go into motherhood wanting to be angry, sleep deprived, cranky, hungry, bitter women, we start out as Mary Poppins and then transform- like Jekel and Hyde!

It’s just that it’s hard to be nice all the time. It’s hard to be sweet when your kid makes bashing your head into a wall sound like the sweet glorious relief that you've been looking for since they woke up at 5am. 

Wanna know what I said to my kid the other day when he woke up the baby after a three hour battle through the night to get her to sleep? I wanted to swear, but instead I said: 

“I. am going. to murder you!” (How is that better than swearing, you ask? I’m still not sure that it is.) 

Those words flew right out of my mouth and into my child’s ears. 

It’s not like I’m proud though! I’m mildly conflicted about my parenting choices. Let’s be clear.  

I don’t want to be that person. It just... spills out of me.

Miss Hannigan and I speak a language only exhausted parents understand. I get every glorious aspect of her. Her drawn on eyebrows (that she probably pulled out from stress), her hair (that she clearly hasn't had time to do because... who does?), and her inability to dress in clothes that society deems “respectable” (whatever that means). 

Why bother getting dressed when the kids are just gonna destroy your clothes anyway? I totally get that. (When I put pants on, my kids are like “Guys! We’re going somewhere!!!”)

We aren’t so different, Miss Hannigan and I. She knows how hard it is to keep things clean. She knows what it’s like to have kids complain to her all. day. long. about how unfair life is. She knows what it feels like to want to sit down and take a break only to be interrupted just as you put your feet up. She knows how it feels to want to be a woman but to be a gross unwashed mess instead. 

She just knows. She just...  

Gets it. 

And I get it. Day in and day out. 5am mornings, and 2am pee breaks. Drawings on the new couches, and toothpaste on the counters. Smeared poop on the toilet, smudges on the mirror, concocted kitchen creations, and gum on the dining room table. Shoes that don’t have matches, sheets that should be burned instead of washed, food on the walls, cereal under the fridge and dirty handprints on the doorknobs. Lick marks on the windows and paper projects duct taped to the bulletin board. Sticky books and dirty laundry piles that may never be clean simultaneously. Broken toys that are basically gold, crayons, pencils, and markers that are impossible to find (until the art shows up everywhere except on paper) and boogers on...…just everything! 

Guys, rotten milk mashed into the carpet of the car… 

I just so, SO get it. 

Recognizing the parallels of Miss Hannigans life and my own, has given me copious amounts of compassion and respect for that poor haggard woman. I see that poor haggard woman when I look in the mirror. 

Miss Hannigan, I see you and I get you. I may not be as drunk as you (I tend to drown my woes in pastries and things that come in wrappers), but I get you. 

And to you, my friends, if you relate to any of this, then there’s probably a little Miss H. in you too, and in that case, you and I are made of the same stuff. Comrades in the battles of motherhood. 

I see you.

I get you.

And I won’t judge you for the things you say when you’re tired and don’t have an ounce of patience left in you. And neither will Miss Hannigan, cuz, clearly... she gets it too.