I had intended to piggyback on my Tuesday post, and wax sentimental about the reaction of my children when I walked in the house after a two-day absence. But my final parenting moment last night involved Nicholas screaming…yes, screaming…in my face for ten minutes straight because he dropped a squishy pool ball on his way up the stairs, and I told him he could have it back in the morning.
Maybe I should’ve given it to him. But it was choir night. Bedtime was long gone before we ever left church.
The tantrums have been less severe lately (knock on wood), because I’ve been trying to set him up for success. Being hungry and/or tired sets him off, so I’m more cognizant of snacks. We’ve rearranged the carpool so he gets a full nap at least two days a week every week, and especially on Wednesday—choir day—I try to make sure he gets a very long one. And it seems to be working. He’s eating vegetables now without having to be bribed every other bite, at least.
The difference is in me, too. I know Nicholas hates being yelled at; scolding of any kind pretty much turns him into a sullen, uncooperative lump who hollers so loudly that he actually can’t hear the meaning of anything I say. So I’ve been trying to cool my temper, which—let’s face it—runs on a much shorter fuse than it did when I was a parent of one.
But man, I was tired last night. Unreasonably tired. And I lost my cool.
Before very long, Nicholas had forgotten what he was screaming about; he knew only that he must keep screaming or life as he knew it would pass away. Screaming through the toileting routine. Screaming while having his teeth brushed. Screaming while being diapered. Screaming while having his jammies put on.
I don’t deal well with screaming. It flays my nerves. I can’t breathe properly; I can barely think. Usually I remove the offender: put him in his room and go downstairs, where the noise is only an irritant and not a scouring pad on my soul. I come back in five minutes and offer him a snuggle. But that technique, although usually successful, involves multiple repetitions over twenty to thirty minutes. And last night, I knew it was tiredness. He needed sleep—and so did his roommate, who has school today.
Finally I yelled downstairs to Christian, who was making his lunch: “I’m past my limit! I need you up here NOW!”
Christian came upstairs and walked to the crib, where Nicholas lay on his tummy, still screaming. “STOP IT. RIGHT NOW.”
And you know what? That stinker stopped crying. Just like that.
Insides quivering, I left the room and went to say goodnight to Alex and get myself ready for bed.
These are the motherhood moments that I agonize over sharing. I should couch them in humorous terms, like my friend Abby. I should draw a spiritual lesson out of them, like my friend Sarah. At least ten times during the writing of this post, I questioned my judgment in sharing it at all. If I confess to losing my cool, will I not bring DFS swooping down on me?
But this is real. The beautiful moments? The ones that transcend ordinary life, elevating it to something not much short of Heaven? Those are real. But so is this. It’s part of the growing that I know now will continue until the day I die. And as I put myself out here as a…persona? an expert? or, just as an mirror for everyone else’s experiences…I think it’s important to acknowledge the ugly moments along with the transcendent ones.
Show me some love here, moms. ’Cuz I’m needing it today.
Kathleen M. Basi 
You’re still one of my heros. Even today.
And you spell better than I 🙂
Haha! Laughter is the best medicine, they say. 🙂 Your comments are an e-hug. Thank you!
We all have our moments. It’s good for our children to know we are not perfect, as they get older you will be an example of humility when you apologize to them for losing your cool….or maybe that is just me. Hugs…yes, lauging is the best medicine.
God Bless.
I frequently have to apologize when I jump to conclusions or act in selfishness…I know it’s good for them to see, but I sure wish my example could be more reflective of God in the first place!
Oh absolutely it’s real and it happens in homes with children everywhere. 🙂
My own personal struggles lie with *my* third-born, my mini-me, my baby girl who behaves a little too similarly to my memories of myself. I often just don’t know what to do with her! Sure, she also provides a big chunk of my transcendant, happy moments of motherhood…she’s like my extreme of the extremes in both directions.
So…you’re not alone with times like these, for sure.
So something must have been in the air last night. Same mad screaming fit by my little guy (over a lost Batman figure). For AT LEAST thirty minutes! In this case I managed to keep my cool. So I was all, yeah, me! However, on another night I could have easily been in your shoes. Lord know it’s happened before. So let yourself off the hook and give yourself credit for all the times you have NOT lost it!
I think you touched upon something profound when you acknowledged your limit, and your husband stepped in to your rescue.
That’s the beauty of marriage and parenting as a team!
Usually my tolerance threshold is fairly high, but the screaming of two toddlers eventually breaks me…
as one child’s distress can easily start the other child whining too.
I just walk away, giving Joe “The Look”: It’s YOUR turn to deal with them.
And fortunately, when one partner needs a respite, the other is fully-charged and ready to take the reins.
He can very calmly gather up the thrashing, wailing bodies and carry them upstairs to bed. Return to get their sippy-cups and tuck them in….
If it weren’t for him, they would hear me yelling at them “Go to bed NOW!” instead of a bedtime story.
All the single parents out there have my sympathy; it must be extremely hard to manage children in their worst moments, without having a pillar of adult support.
Sometimes we just need to walk away and lay our burden in someone else’s hands.
“All the single parents out there have my sympathy; it must be extremely hard to manage children in their worst moments, without having a pillar of adult support.”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
I’m proud of you. We all have these moments. Somehow it soothes others to know they aren’t the only ones. You’ve likely soothed a soul with this post.
This time, even in it’s lowest moments is soooo sacred.
With my four grown and out of the house, I yearn from the depths for those days- but I also would like a lot of “do overs”:) We grow along with our kids in this journey of life . We share in daffodils, daisies, poop and vomit. The cool thing is that we have this incredible power- the choice to forgive ourselves and each another for these falls from grace. Your honesty and awareness is what makes you real and keeps you in check. Godspeed the rest of your journey.
That’s why God designed it so kids would have two parents.
Imagine being a single Mom with no Dad to help out. Your post brings out the beauty of two parent love and discipline. I feel sad for the many Moms out there who are going it alone.