She was on her thirteenth tantrum. It was 9 am. The house was a disaster, but we had left the wake of clutter and dirty dishes behind us in a harried attempt to get my eldest daughter to her day camp on time that morning. All three girls were strapped into their carseats and just as we pulled out of the driveway, she ramped up for fit #14 of the day and I LOST it. I turned my head around and screamed, “ENOUGH! It’s Mommy’s TURN TO BE MAD RIGHT NOW!!!!!!” Then I yelled a few more unintelligible sentences of fury, watched my girls’ eyes widen in fear, and finally I burst into hot tears of frustration.
Why am I not better at this? Why can’t I find an effective way to deal with my two year-old’s behaviour? What am I doing wrong that she’s such a BEAST all the time? Why can’t I manage to keep my house looking less like a white-trash hovel? Why did I have three kids if I suck at this so bad? Why am I going back to work in a few weeks, if life is already so crazy? Why, why, why?
Not my finest hour today, to be sure.
Ever have those days?