Mutual Frazzlement

I don’t know what it was about today that had me on edge.   I think I could tell you twelve different, not very interesting stories about the word, “mommy” being repeated.   There was a lack of listening when I said, “I will help you in five minutes when I finish this.”   There was moaning and crying because no one wanted water for lunch, the water wasn’t the right temperature or wasn’t in the ideal cup.

None of the stories in and of themselves warrant me losing cool.   It was the culmination of event after event, crying for no reason after crying for no (discernible) reason, the need for help even though no help was needed and the overall lack of more than five minutes of time at a stretch to try and get some work done I’d committed to doing.

So I yelled at my children.   I beg-yelled.   I begged them to please try and help me out because I was trying to work and yes, I know my daughter needed help with random app X to find the green sprinkles for the cupcake and I did understand how my son wanted to show me Cool Move #7 in his app, but could they give me a little break and show me these things later or try another app?

My best friend texted me and asked if I had time to talk over lunch.  When my husband got home I drove to her office and we went out for lunch.   Guess what?  She said she was so frazzled from her children this morning that she slammed the refrigerator and almost hoped it would break she was so mad.  

Her stories mirror mine in individual minor-ness, but they built up and caused her to snap.   She and I sat on a bench, drinking smoothies, talking about how we hated it every time we yelled at our children.  How we knew what to say, the words to use, the positive methods to employ, but it didn’t always work and at a point—after trying several different options for a positive result—we just lose it.

It bothers me because I think there has to be a, “right way” or just a, “better way”.   We came up with some suggestions for each other’s children/situations and will be back at it again tomorrow, trying to be the mothers we want to be.  

The Tiny Girl Big Boy Breakfast Story:  My daughter came downstairs early and chanted, “daddy, daddy, daddy” on our bed.  My husband told her he would get up in ten minutes to get her breakfast and to please stop asking.   He lost his temper and put her in the living room, shutting our door, when she didn’t stop.   She cried loudly.  She wailed.   She started chanting, “mommy, mommy, mommy” through the closed door.   I went out and told her as long as she was making noise, neither of us would make her breakfast.   We had heard her and saying our names wasn’t helping.    She cried more, she yelled some.   Suddenly, my son was downstairs and in a calm, quiet voice said, “I’ll help you get breakfast.   You said you wanted cereal?”   She sniffled, said yes, and went off with him to the kitchen.   He offered her a drink and helped make her entire breakfast.   Can I just say I was so proud of him?