Everyone who knows me knows I always say I’m a bad mom. I want to do better. Really, I do.
But I can’t stop yelling.
As I write this, my heart is pounding because I just sent all three boys to bed after they wouldn’t stop screaming and wrestling.
Then the milk spilled. And I yelled. And then Middle Man cried.
And then they all went to bed. Which is where they are now. In there blaming each other through their tears as to whose fault it was.
And I’m out here typing furiously so I don’t punch a wall.
I seriously DID NOT inherit any of my mom and dad’s patience when it comes to parenting. Why am I so different? Didn’t anything rub off?
They had four girls. But don’t get me wrong. We fought. I used to threaten my little sister with a butcher knife … so yeah. I know we were bad. We did, however, listen to our parents. We didn’t want to let them down. We didn’t want our parents to be mad at us. But when they did get mad, they didn’t scream. They sent us to our rooms. We went. We did our time playing with Shrinky Dinks or Barbies or Matchbox cars and then came out with our tails between our legs. (so to speak. we don’t really have tails.)
The difference I’m noticing is my kids DO NOT CARE if I’m mad.
So what’d I do wrong?
I’m sure there are people out there who would say it’s all my fault that our kids are loud and don’t listen. I also know there are a ton of people out there who say the kids are actually NORMAL in that they fight and yell. They are boys.
It’s me who isn’t normal. I can’t take all the yelling. I guess I have no patience and really am being beaten to death being surrounded by all boys.
So what do I do when the going gets tough?
I YELL MORE.
Which teaches them to yell.
Which ticks me off.
Which is why I’m in this position now. Heart racing. Blaming myself. Telling myself THIS IS NOT HOW I WANT MY KIDS TO REMEMBER ME when I’m dead and they’re all sitting around wondering why their mom was such a freak.
So. If I know I need to stop, WHY DO I NOT STOP?
(“Hmm. Good question there, Kasey. Good luck with this one.” Shut up evil little me on my shoulder.)
I need therapy. Or drugs. Or hypnotized. Or something.
Chocolate? A vacation? A vacation to a chocolate factory?
I don’t know.
But I’m being honest here. Parenting is tough. It’s tougher than I EVER THOUGHT it would be. I’m really, really doing a crappy job. I know it’s not too late yet. But it’s getting close. My kids are getting old enough to know mommy is a freak. I need to lighten up. But they need to listen. I’m about two seconds away from humiliating myself and my family and calling in the nanny from one of those crazy shows. (When I watch those shows, I must say it’s not nearly that bad at my house. Thank God…but it might get to that point if I don’t stop YELLING.)
So here’s what I am going to do.
I’m going to breathe.
Take it one day at a time.
One fight at a time.
One scream at a time.
I think I’ll go back to my old tactic that did kinda work. (Why did I stop??) When the kids tick me off to the point I’m going to erupt, I’m gonna get all mooshy and lovey on them and hug and kiss them till they stop. They’re old enough now that that TOTALLY GROSSES THEM OUT.
So there. Bring on tomorrow’s fights and screams.
Mama’s got a new bag of tricks.