On tantrum-throwing

We were having this very nice weekend morning recently. I’d gone for a run, and was thinking about what we’d have for dinner (this is what I’m thinking about 95 percent of the time) and then, suddenly, some fight flared up between the kids, and I watched as Gabe kicked Nora - not hard really, but angrily, and definitely on purpose - and I walked to the table by our front door and took the lovely, woven basket where we stack the mail and I threw it at the floor. The mail went everywhere and I punctuated the moment by declaring that I was “SO sick of it”

Then I went out the door, got in the car and went for a little drive, fuming, and thinking about this movie I’d seen once on the Hallmark channel called “Mom’s Day Away,” which - listen to me - is not a good movie, but, appropriately, is about a mom who is fed up with her family and decides to take Mother’s Day off by leaving the house and doing whatever she wants. I think that while I was driving (I only went a modest mile or so), I might have even uttered aloud, “I’ll have a mom’s day away, just watch me!” before deciding it would be more prudent to turn the car around, go home and have a family talk about how to lessen the fighting in our house. Plus, we needed to get to Taekwondo and my little tirade was cutting it close on timing.

A few things: throwing a woven basket full of mail is not very dramatic! It is more in the “humorous displays of anger” category, the kind that Aidy so excels in (case in point, she got furious at bedtime last night because she “couldn’t remember how to be tired,” then took all the bedding off her bed and screamed “now you’ll have to watch me clean it up!” at me, while I sat outside her door scrolling political tweets and waiting until she was breathing at a normal rate and I could intervene.)

Throwing a glass plate would have made much more of an impact, but of course, would have also been dangerous and scary.

Also, my drive was very short and didn’t cause anyone much distress. Which is good. But, you know, not “Mom’s Day Away” exactly (for real, do not spend time watching this movie). “Mom’s Eight Minutes Away” is more accurate

But here is the thing that was notable and big about the moment. I didn’t feel badly about it. I usually do when I lose my temper, which I try not to do very often. But the fighting has been so frequent and disruptive lately. As I’ve written before, I do think it’ll pass, like all the other stages have (or at least that it will become less constant). Right now, though, it feels like I can’t learn my way out of it. I hate that.

I’ve been on a big learning kick the past couple years. Trying to implement the “right” habits and live my life in a way that promotes positive action.

God. I cannot even believe I wrote that sentence, but hey! This is what my early 40s is doing to me and I gotta say, I’m into it.

When I got overwhelmed by all my kids’ toys, I implemented some decluttering techniques. When I felt overwhelmed by grief I went to see a therapist, and wrote about it, too. When I felt overwhelmed by our schedule, I tried to pick up better scheduling techniques, and I started saying no to things when it was crazy to try and fit them in (I realize that saying “no” to events and invitations proactively is how some of you live your lives but, omg, it is very hard for me).

One idea in particular I really like: I’m reading this great book right now called “Burnout” (thanks for the rec, Steph!) and one of the pieces of advice in it is that when you are feeling weighed down by anger or sadness or anything due to world or personal issues, a good counter-tactic is to do something productive. And that the something doesn’t have to be related to the thing you’re having feelings about. Like, maybe you can’t single-handedly fix climate change, but you can take your dog for a run. Maybe you can’t stop all the screaming on a weekend morning, but you can declutter the front closet.

It feels so good to do that - to read about and adopt techniques to attack, rather than succumb to, the day.

And I’m sure there are some really good strategies out there for dealing with an unruly household of children. A household that I am so proud of and lucky to have, I need to add here. And who are not, notably, throwing pillows or kicking anyone at school, where they’re all having great years.

I’m sure I’ll learn them. But, guys. Whether your headache is kids fighting or spousal stuff or alllllllllllll the emotional labor or taking care of your parents or insane work hours or the infinite scream in your head when you think about politics and injustice and what in the world happened to the Iowa caucus technology, it’s so empowering to know there are ways to make it better. And ALSO that it sometimes feels wonderful to throw a basket of mail on the floor.

Sometimes it feels really good to recognize that it’s fine to exist in both those realms. Knowing that you don’t have the toolbox to fix the national mess or your personal chaos at the moment, and also that living this beautiful life deserves every ounce of your attention and anger and positivity. That you are gonna tear the goddamn IKEA bedding RIGHT off your little bed with the lambs on the headboard. And then, because you actually do want to go to sleep and face the clean slate of a new day, you’re going to angrily, productively, proudly, put them back on again.

Grateful #3

Each December, despite the lack of sleep, lack of healthy eating habits and lack of structure my family falls prey to over holiday break (on several nights I had to aggressively negotiate Aidy down from her requested “7 million” post-dinner gummy bears to five, which she put in her mouth all at the same time) I get really excited. Really motivated for the year ahead.

Certain years I’ve been more disenchanted by the idea of “resolutions,” thinking things like, “Well, if you’re going to make resolutions, why wait until January 1st? Start working towards them now, don’t wait a second longer!” and other years, like this one, I’m gung-ho, thinking things like, “Of course January 1st is the best time to make resolutions! It’s the beginning of the new year!”

So, on the morning of January 1, I decided to write some ideas down. Resolutions sort of, but I didn’t hold myself to any particular formulation or specificity. I wrote down that I wanted to do more one-on-one things with the kids, and that I wanted to decide on the next steps in my career. That I wanted to read more, and also that I wanted “more bravery, less worrying” in my life. I know vague goals are often left unrealized but I didn’t care. It felt good to start the year this way, especially because I’d spent the night before with a sick child, missing the party with friends we’d been looking forward to for months. It was a bummer, although my calm evening watching “Harry Potter” movies with Gabe was one of those “no place I’d rather be” experiences (I mean, both of us would have rather been at the party, but you get what I’m saying).

2020 was off to a proactive start.

Today, however - back in the swing of school and schedules and projects I didn’t work on over the break - I became very stressed out. It was a very particular kind of stress, the type that manifests in your body. The kind that, I’ve learned, can result in middle-of-the-night panic if left unchecked.

I didn’t love it, but at least I could diagnose it: all I was feeling was the sense of being overwhelmed by the responsibilites I’d had the privlege to ignore during our vacation. No big deal. But still, a feeling that erased the high I’d achieved writing all of those noble resolutions with my sidekick (Gabe deemed them “good” which I took as high praise) just one day prior.

But a feeling I could conquer, I decided, if I worked through it. If I wrote down all the pressing things I had to do on a piece of paper, then began making my way through them despite the feeling. It would cease in time, but trying to conquer it in one fell swoop wasn’t going to work. I was just going to have to feel uncomfortable and annoyed for awhile. I was going to have to put my fingers on the keyboard and type paragraphs that turn into stories without feeling inspired. Not to mention J and I were going to have to hide all the gummies from Aidy and wrestle my children back into some sort of semblance of regular bedtimes.

There was, of course, one thing that would make it all a little more tolerable. And that’s writing about it here.

I’ve been writing on this blog since I was in my mid-twenties. Taking the drudgery and hilarity and stresses and sadness from my unremarkable daily life and typing it up for all to read. And the crazy thing, the really quite crazy thing, is that people, for some reason, read it.

Not you know, throngs of people or anything. But you guys. You read it. And you commented with your own stories. You told me you like it when I wrote about so-and-so or this or that. You made me feel like sharing the minor and major moments that make up my life (that make up all our lives) wasn’t just a means for me to talk endlessly about myself - even though it is kind of that, isn’t it? - but a way for us to connect.

And even though I always feel much better when I talk through my feelings with others (J might interupt here that sometimes what I do is “dump my feelings on others” without their consent) I think that the sense of connection is what I’m after. That’s what makes it not only more tolerable, but truly wonderful.

It’s what makes these not-funny-or-meaningful-in-the-moment-but-will-be-funny-or-meaningful-a-few-months-from-now incidents much easier to digest, and more amusing to contemplate. Having you along for the ride is the key.

Silently praying that my child doesn’t actually choke on gummy bears because the hospital is not super close to my mom’s house. Quietly waking up my exhausted son just before midnight so we could count down to one with the ball drop, because I promised I would. Missing the party, trying to be a good mother and sitting in a coffee shop on January 2 thinking that if I get one more email detailing a duty I needed to tend to I was going to quit (all of it, quit all of it).

Deciding, instead, to quit none of it and tell you about it here.

This - this mundane, on-a-whim, colloquial type of storytelling I do - is the thing I like best. But I wouldn’t like it nearly as much if you weren’t there on the other side of this keyboard.

This is my last of three “grateful” posts and the most important one, considering the audience. I am grateful for you.

Thanks for making me feel like a real writer. For listening and telling me your own tales. For reminding me we are all in this together.

Happy 2020. I’ll talk to you soon.