As usual, I’m not sure how relevant or healthy it is to blog about my personal experiences, but the writer and self deprecator in me just can’t help it. So here I go. Let me preface what I’m about to say with the fact that I’m a yeller. I come from a house of debating yellers and although my stoic, mid-western husband has taken me down a few decibels over the past decade, I still yell. Wait. Let me try this another way… after having children, the yelling has come back. Ah. There we go.
My stepmother recently commented on how “together” I am as a woman, which was followed by my typical sarcasm. I said, “I don’t know how ‘together’ I am––I mean, my daughter locked me out of the house for 2o minutes today, and my neighbors heard me screaming at her to open the door and they came to my aid.” Yes, my lovely three year old watched as I marched a poop filled diaper to the trash and pounced on the opportunity to test her mother. And she did. I pounded so hard on the door that I eventually bruised my hand. All I could think about was my 20 week old baby who was still lying on the floor in my room. I don’t think he would’ve gone anywhere, but I was still freaking out over it. Hence the yelling and pounding at the door. Anyhow, these super nice neighbors came over to tell me that I could easily jimmy the locks by using a credit card, a trick I have put to good use since that day. And while we were attempting to pop the lock, I heard a faint “click”. The woman turned to me, stunned. “Do you think?” she asked.
“Yes, I think…” I responded. “Thank you for your help. Now if you would excuse me.” I quickly opened the door to my toddler who initially thought she was in the clear until she recognized the angry mommy face and swiftly ran like the wind to her time-out spot. “Don’t spank me!” she pleaded. And honestly? All I could see was RED. We were late for school, Gunnar had a doctor’s appointment and I was completely angry. And yes, I spanked her. First of all, this is a touchy area, right? To spank or not to spank? Personally, I know it doesn’t work. My daughter could care less. Sometimes, she’ll even egg me on. “Go ahead mom!” Ugh. The humiliation of it all.
So I made a promise. I promised to myself, and to God (who I really don’t talk to all that often) that I wouldn’t spank my daughter. The pain I’m inflicting on her (in her case, with all the damn laughter, there is none at all apparently) is only quelling my anger. This pact, this late at night deep pact that I made between myself and my Maker––lasted all of 24 hours. Yes, after a trip the grocery store turned ugly, I became… wait for it… that crazy bitch mother who was yelling and whooping (albeit sort of discreetly?) her child in the parking lot. My husband looked at me like I was a complete psycho and later said as much. And it’s just humiliating. Please, please, please tell me that I’m not the only psycho parent out there. I am trying each and every day to abandon my anger and opt only for the “go to your room” technique, but I am weak. People, I’m weak.
Maybe it’s time for the Super damn Nanny. Sigh.