The details leading up to it really aren’t that interesting–It was my husbands birthday last Monday. We were all at home that morning because it was Columbus Day. So instead of having the normal structure of a “mommy day,” we treated it like a typical Sunday morning–letting either mom or dad sleep in until the kids completely lose it somewhere around 10am.
Since it was his birthday and all, we gave dad the “gift of sleep” even though I was feeling like crap–exhausted, a little sick, and unsteady. When the deteriorating of the toddlers kicked in, the flareups came fast and furious. And I observed myself yelling at them not once but at least three times. At that point, it was only 9 am. I just couldn’t wake him up yet.
I am not a yeller by nature.
When I find myself giving in to anger by yelling, it means I have reached my peak of problem solving and am feeling completely out of control.
Many times danger is involved, like yell #3 that morning when one toddler was swinging on the refrigerator door while the other was wedged inside the fridge and I had a full pot of boiling water on the flaming gas stove just beside the stove.
It was ugly, terrible screaming because I was exhausted on all levels and wasn’t able to see what the situation needed to be resolved. (Baby gate, anyone??)
So often as mothers, our judgement is blurred by lack of sleep and lack of space.
Once I regained my composure (and averted danger), I shuttled the kids out to the backyard. This involved a whole mess of protests, tears, and flinging themselves on the ground as I tried to shove their little New Balances on their feet.
When my husband came outside around noon, I did my best to give him a bright Happy Birthday! before I hightailed it upstairs for a break. I lay in my oldest son’s room and melted into tears. Why was that morning so difficult? Why had I snapped so easily, so often? Why was I so frayed?
It would be so easy to become a yeller and screamer.
It’s even sort of justified in the refrigerator/stove scenario above. But it makes me feel like crap. It is not at all the kind of mother I want to be. It is not at all the kind of environment I want to create in my home.
That morning, crying in my sons’s room, I read from Buddhism for Mothers, which actually has a whole chapter devoted to anger.
Among the many inspiring passages I found, one of the most helpful was the author’s perspective on the Buddha’s Discourse on the Forms of Thought in which the Buddha presents five options for dealing with disturbing thoughts.
They are:
1. Dwell on the positive
2. Consider the results of our thoughts
3. Distract ourselves
4. Consider the alternatives.
5. Use our willpower.
As the author points out, what’s so fantastic about this list is that they are options.
So while sometimes it might not be not possible to use a typical toddler distraction (“hey you hanging on the fridge handle which could easily plow your brother right into the open flame of the stove–how about a tickle?!!”). But it would be a useful exercise to think back to a less dangerous situation you didn’t feel so hot about and consider other ways you could have handled it based on the “5 Ways to Not Lose It” menu above.
I apologized to my children later that day.
Isaiah, my oldest, clearly remembered the incidents of that morning, and by apologizing I hope I am showing him that we are all human. And even if I was right (no hanging on the goddamn fridge), I didn’t handle it right.
Anger is such a fleeting emotion.
I can’t even remember the other 99 things I’ve yelled about recently. But the aftermath of giving in to anger sits in the home, like tobacco on a smoker’s wall.
Here’s to not giving in.
Oh Britta, I hear you! And it sounds like screaming in the moment was completely justified, and that you could reflect on it afterward and have everyone involved learn from the experience is amazing. I have never screamed as much as I did the day I told one of my kids not to flush the toilet because it might overflow and then she did it looking right at me, and it proceeded to leak down through the kitchen ceiling – And I’m a yoga teacher! Somehow, all the scripture study in the world doesn’t prepare you for that – lol!
Patty, having sewage flow through the kitchen ceiling is so horrible, it’s wickedly hilarious!
“the aftermath of giving in to anger sits in the home, like tobacco on a smoker’s wall.”
It’s so profoundly true, and such a striking and impactful way to put it.
We had a rough day today too. Their dad lost his temper with all three trying to get them to pitch in and do chores. When I told him he might get more cooperation if he didn’t sound like a big bully his response was along the lines of I don’t care, I didn’t do it (as in make the mess). Hmm… how toddler like this sounds. But not too long after he lost his temper and kicked his feet about it to me, I heard him sit the kids down and apologize. Explaining his frustration, and like you write here, acknowledging that even dads (in this case) are human. The kids still didn’t want to pitch in, but it did lift the funk that had filled the room.
I love this post. I love it for its honesty. I love it that I’m not the only one that sometimes falters at keeping a “smoke free” home.
Thanks for sharing this.
I love that he apologized : )
Britta – how brave and honest to share this with all of us. We have ALL been there. I am continually amazed (and disappointed) in how quickly and easily I can “go there” (meaning: yell, vs. stay calm). We’re tired. We’re stressed. And that picture we have in our head of what that moment should look like couldn’t be furthere from what it actually does. So we’re also disappointed, and maybe a little sad.
What I’m also amazed at is our children’s capacity (often more than ours) to forgive. And forget. Especially if – as you did – we acknowledge our failings, our humanity, to them. Tomorrow (or later) alwawys brings a fresh start. So we also need to learn to forgive ourselves.
Thank you – SO MUCH – for sharing this. Beautifully written, as you always do.
That is such an important point, Sheri, about children’s capacity for forgiveness. Just as the black sky of their tantrums can clear from one moment to the next and seem all but forgotten. It’s truly inspiring.