One of my biggest parenting fears has always been that I will royally screw up my kids. They are relatively defenseless, and I have always been concerned with sending them straight to the therapist couch. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200 dollars. About a month ago, I had the kind of day my kids will definitely, at some point, relive in a therapist’s office.
Spring break was upon our household like the Bubonic plaque. Kids were crawling all over the place and I had 14 days worth of maximum security lock up to look forward to. I work from home which has as many benefits as drawbacks. One major drawback being, I can’t get my work done when my kids are home. I tried to find camps to send them to, but that ship had sailed.
The week started out with the common daily issues we all face in our households. There was a ton of screaming, crying, fist fighting, food throwing, running, and tattle telling. I was doing my best to keep it together. I was stressed with work, the demands of the three tiny hemorrhoids, and I was getting ready to have my second surgery for the year. I was not in the best state of mind to say the least.
It was day seven of the break. That morning I got a letter in the mail from my home owners associations stating that we had violated our deed restrictions and owed a $100 fine. I was livid. I had been battling with these Napoleonic retirees for months and I was done. I loaded everyone into the car and drove to the management office to pay my association fees and address my recent violation. I jumped out of the van to discover that the office was closed. My blood began to boil. I automatically texted my husband a list of obscenities that I could not blurt out in front of the kids. I boldly and feverishly texted that I was on the verge of throat punching someone and buckled myself back into my seat.
On the drive home the kids continued to fight over who was going to watch what when we got home. One kid hit another kid with a book in the backseat and I swung around screaming, “If I have to pull this van over you will not be happy!” My idle threat fell on deaf ears as I continued home with the miniature tyrants screaming that they wanted to swim. I tried to text my husband to calm me down but he was in a meeting and couldn’t respond.
We entered the house and I ran into my office to check my voice-mails. Just as I had dialed a number I heard two of my kids screaming and crying as though they were being mauled by a grizzly bear. I ran from the office to find them fighting over a stuffed penguin.
At that moment I lost my SH#T. I couldn’t take another second of the screaming and fighting. I grabbed the stuffed penguin and said, “If you’re going to fight over it, you’re going to lose it!” I then proceeded to make the penguin a double amputee by ripping his arms off. I stuffed him in the garbage can and looked back at my kids. They stood there, in silence, mortified that I had maimed the penguin from Madagascar. I shoved his mangled body in the trash can and smacked his beaten head with the lid. He had made his way into an early grave. I stood there in shock, I was now a stuffed animal murderer.
The kids took one look at me and were off like a bat out of hell and ran for their rooms. I followed, screaming hysterically about their constant fighting, and continued my rant for about five more minutes. Nothing in my path was safe. I slammed chairs, threw toys, clothing, and shoes. As I walked past a mirror in the living room I caught a glimpse of myself and I stopped. I looked like a crazy lunatic.
I needed to find my SH#T and put it back together. I went to the bathroom and cried for a few minutes. I then walked back out to the living room and sat all of the kids on the couch. I apologized, I cried, they cried, and we all hugged. My son looked at me and quietly asked if he could have his penguin back. I explained that he was now in a better place and he said, “No, he is in a trash can.” I tried not to laugh, but I did. My oldest chimed in with, “Yeah buddy, it’s gone. Mom went crazy on that penguin.”
It is most definitely a day that I won’t forget. It was one of my worst parenting moments, but it taught me a very specific lesson. I simply can’t do it all. I can’t take care of three kids, work from home, take care of the house, and keep any kind of sanity. I called my boss that evening and asked her for a week off so that I could properly do my most vital job, be a Mom.
So the reason I am talking about my worst parenting moment, is to let you know that it too shall pass. I know that my limits are real and must be acknowledged. We all fall, it’s what happens next that matters most.
I LOVE this. I can most definitely relate. Here’s to losing you sh#t and coming back from it!
Hi, I’m from our Facebook group #BloggingTidbits. I love the humor in this post! Thank you so much for sharing this. Though all parents can relate, not all parents are brave enough to share their worst parenting moments. We’ve all been there. You’re helping other parents to realize they’re not alone… my daughters are 15 &12 now but I’ve been a stay-at-home mom most of their lives & when they’re young it can be isolating.
Way to bounce back! Have a great week!
God! I am barely holding my sh*t together. Going bat sh*t crazy on a stuffy sounds almost therapeutic.
Thank you so much!! I appreciate the kind words. This is my therapy
I did this. To a plastic seat/stool. It was supposed to go to a vanity play set for kids, but she liked to use it to reach stuff she shouldn’t in the kitchen. I warned her over and over that I would break it if she did it again. One day she was in the kitchen, getting into the freezer (we used to have a freezer over fridge type) and I told her to get off that stupid thing before she fell. She “I will”-ed me in that annoyed tone and not five seconds later, slipped and banged her chin on the top of the door to the fridge. It caused her to bite her bottom lip, which started bleeding. I was so livid and my husband started yelling at me for “letting” her do this, that I grabbed the stool and a hammer and beat it to pieces on the back deck. Hubby accused me of going overboard and daughter was distraught that I had done it, but I was pleased. No more dangerous slippery plastic stool. Now she safely uses wooden chairs….
Shit happens and sometime you need to break stuff. I totally get it. I say good riddance to the stool Keep reading!