When Moms Throw Tantrums

I like to think of myself as a fairly low-key mom. I’m not a yeller. I’ll discipline my kids, but not especially harshly (no spanking or ear pulling—though I have been known to take away dessert for an entire week). In other words, I like to keep a lid on it. Losing control makes me unhappy.

But sometimes? When the four-year-old has been thrashing and whining for an hour straight and the six-year-old has no idea what a social cue is or how to stop the chitchat for two seconds, when your daughter has had strep all week and you’re not feeling so hot yourself, when you’re trying to pull together dinner and your husband is late coming home yet again, a small explosion can’t be helped.

I feel sorry for J. I do. He works like crazy all week, then comes home one evening and all is well for about ten minutes. Both kids are at the table making Valentines. I am dishing up dinner like the 1950s housewife I’ve become. And, quickly, the situation deteriorates. It starts with Belle, who falls apart because her handwriting isn’t as neat as her brother’s. She howls at the top of her very ample lungs.

J. volunteers to hold off on dinner and take her up for a calming bath.

Only problem is, I’ve worked the whole evening around trying to make things peaceful so he doesn’t step into the mayhem he’s been dreading the whole commute home. I’ve already helped Milo with his homework, fed him and Belle, put our meal on the table and am ready to send the kids upstairs to watch a movie while J. and I eat together.

And his disappearing to coddle Belle, who’s made my life miserable for the last four hours with her shrieking, does not fit into my plan.

This is when it gets truly ugly. I lose it. I throw my napkin onto the table. I bellow about how hard I tried. I stomp upstairs in tears and throw myself on my bed. When Milo peaks his head in my room, I tell him to get out, that I need to be alone.

Belle’s got nothing on me.

J., ever the sane one around here, gets both kids settled in their rooms and comes and asks if I’ll have dinner with him. Head bowed, I apologize and follow him back to the table, where we eat mostly in silence and I wonder how long until Mt. Overwhelmed Mom blows again.