Mom Confession: I Lost My Sh*t, Again

Lately I’ve found myself modeling the ‘I’m only human’ lesson to my kids, far too often.

You know what I mean? Where you show your kids the sides of you that you’d rather them not see? The sides that show you’re not in control; the reactive, quick tempered, and/or emotional sides that actually, when you break it down, look a lot like meltdowns and temper tantrums. (I really hope you’re with me here, and I’m not the only one whose inner June Cleaver gets overpowered by that sneaky bitch, Crazy Mom).

A few times last month, including Valentine’s Day of all the freakin’ days, I shouted so hard and so loud I think my eyes may have actually sprung loose from their sockets. I’m not just talking about raising my voice. I’m talking about raising the roof, with my voice.

So, of course, good ‘ol mom guilt has been my trusty sidekick, these days because I really don’t want to parent with fear. And, I don’t want my kids to behave because they’re worried Mom is going to lose it. This is not cool, with me.  And, when I snapped on the one and only “love-themed” day of the year, I asked myself some hard questions, and I couldn’t answer any of them!

How?

How did I allow myself to lose it on the same day I’d decorated the table with balloons and hearts? That’s pretty unhinged, isn’t it? Can I blame this on lack of coffee? 

Why?

Why couldn’t I just bite my damn tongue for twenty more minutes so they could go off to school feeling loved-up and happy in their pink and red V-Day outfits? Do we naturally become more feral as we age?  Is this a mid-life thing?    

WTF?! 

WTF is my problem? Where has my patience gone?  Is this … menopause?! 

The girls had opened their carefully chosen gifts and cards, each one picked by me, especially for each one of them. The cards and gifts were supposed to say: I’ve been listening, I totally get you, and you’re the best kids ever! (All of those messages were packed in there, subliminally).

Their smiles (and the pic that went on my almost-teen’s Instagram) told me at least a few of my intended messages had been received.

The girls ate their V-Day breakfast and then … a mini-hell broke loose in our living room.

There was a fight between two of the girls. No bigger than any other fight, maybe even smaller than most, but it was quick and it got physical (again). One daughter pushed another because she was “bugging.” And, I know she is an expert bugger. I know that but…

But….

I have been very  honest with myself about the kids’ current fighting style and my lack of ability to deal with it effectively. I don’t like what tween hormones are doing to them and I honestly don’t know how to manage (and put a stop to)  the physical pushing and hitting. It all happens so fast!

And, sometimes… I snap.

On Valentine’s Day, I shouted: “NOOOOOO!” so loudly I scared myself. (I seriously felt the icy wind blast in, as if the roof had really blown straight off our house and into the neighbour’s yard). I then continued yelling: “You will NOT hurt each other with your hands! THIS will NOT happen in this house anyMOOOOORE!”

Things pretty much spiraled downhill from there.

The special llama V-Day card, with the glasses and the sparkly bow-tie, (because we used to love reading the Llama Llama books together); forgotten.

The raspberry macaroons (because they’re her favourites and she loves Paris); meaningless.

All they saw was a rage-filled demon-mother; and she was scary-as-fuck.

There I was, undoing all the good stuff with my insufficient temperament that’s clearly not fit to captain us all through the upcoming S.S. Teen Years’ Voyages.

Tears.

More shouting.

Guilt.

Eye balls at risk of dislocating.

Utter dysfunction.

Roof raising.

Valentine’s Day.

And then my 12-year-old says: “Why, Mom? Why did you have to shout at us today?” And just like that she pierced a hole, right through my guilty mom-heart. I could feel the tears rushing to my eyes, so I left the room.

THIS, I realize, is why I’ve been losing my composure lately. I feel like I have little critics living with me (as I know many of us do). And though I’m used to taking on a bit of judgement (in this case a truth bomb) and letting it roll off my back, lately it has been bringing me down. I feel like the negativity and disapproval is coming at me more often and I’m trying to work harder so they don’t do it. And, when they still find a way to slide in a dig, I end up feeling like a disappointment to them and to myself.

And THIS is not okay. I have never aimed for perfection and I am not about to start now!

I know I need to toughen up. I also know I need to shut that shit down sometimes while, at other times, I should pretend I didn’t hear a thing (Tween Years Survival 101, right?! Knowing when to bite and when to walk away.)

I want them to see me as strong and secure. I also want them to feel safe with me as their mom, not scared that I’m going to lose my mind. Therefore, I need to learn how to deal with these fights better (must order a new parenting book). BUT, at the same time, I also want my kids to understand why I sometimes come undone, even if my timing (and my mode) is questionable.

So in the car, on the way to school today, we talked. Well, I talked, they listened (sort of).

I said: “When I see you hurting each other it brings out the protective mama bear in me! Like,  a wild and crazy mama bear.” And, (despite the fact that the toddler-years are long gone) I added some bear sounds: grrrrrrr and I put on my best bear face.

Everyone was listening, so I continued: “I act like that because I don’t want anyone to hurt my cubs. It’s a quick instinct. I can’t just sit back and let someone hurt one of my cubs, even if the one doing the hurting is one of my own. So… don’t hurt your sister cubs. Ok?! Not with words and not with your paws. Keep. Your. Paws. Off. Your. Sister. Cubs!” (Two of the girls started giggling while the tween rolled her eyes).

I then added: “Also, I’m trying my best to be a good mom, here. Go easy on me. I don’t put your sister’s sandwich in your lunch bag on purpose, just to be a jerk! And I’m not solely responsible for the fact that half of your school socks are now, somehow, partnerless! Trust me, this drives me crazy too! And we aren’t always late for everything, so stop saying we are! And  I know, I know, I forgot to bring your lunches to school that one day last year, can we move on now? And, please, stop keeping tabs on who got what and for how long. It’s exhausting! Life won’t always be fair every second of every day. I will do my best to get you what you need but sometimes it will not match up with what your sister is getting from me, in that moment.  It will all work out in the long run though, okay?! I am only one person. I’m not perfect and I never will be.” (The tween nodded, in fierce agreement, at the mention of me never being perfect).

So, I’m pretty sure they think of me as an imperfect wannabe-bear, now. But, come to think of it, they haven’t had any physical fights since I roared, like a beast, at them on Valentine’s Day.

Maybe my unhinged snaps are effective? Perhaps they’re even necessary?  They certainly feel inevitable.

Anyway, I can only hope that someday when they look back on their childhood years, they’ll forget all the times when I blew the roof off the house, with my voice. I hope, instead, they’ll remember the mama bear hugs and the times we cried from laughing so hard (even if their “alone time” with me was shorter than their sisters’ that night). Above all, I hope they take in all my positive messages; the overt and the subliminal, because there’s so much I want them to know. And I guess the fact that I am teaching them the: “I’m only human” lesson, on a regular basis, isn’t such a bad thing, is it. Is it?  I mean, no matter what I do they’ll blame me for something, right?

And now, I’m off to buy a parenting book and some lavender oil and some chocolate and some wine and… a captain’s hat.