After spending several hours of my childhood “researching” some of the top TV moms, including Carol Brady, Elise Keaton, Maggie Seaver, and my favorite, Claire Huxtable, I was sure by an early age that I wanted to be a mom. I was certain I was going to be good at it too, visualizing myself as an even-keeled, calm, super cool mom of five kids, always looking put together and on top of my game. Slowly through the years, bits of reality settled in and the thought of five kids sounded impossible, but three kids sounded totally doable. Reese was born, and I realized this shit is hard and not at all like it is on TV. Then Evan was born, and I realized this shit is not only hard, but it smears all over your walls as more kids enter into the equation. I thought to myself, “If we had a third kid, would my family visit me in the institution I was permanently placed in?” And before I officially made up my mind about a potential third kid, cancer showed up and was like, “No girl, you’re good with two.”
And so here I am, mom of two. I am grateful every day for being able to have this family. But I am finding more and more that I can be grateful and sad at the same time. I’m not talking about the typical frustrated or angry feelings I get with my kids being messy, loud, or whiny. I’m talking about this feeling of heartache that is somewhat new to me these past few weeks.
As the kids have gotten older, they have become more independent and need a little less hands-on help from me. That’s all fantastic, until you realize it is replaced with some serious attitude and an influx of emotions that they are just learning how to express. It has been a challenge particularly for Evan to express his frustration and anger; he feels and expresses it all in an intense way and has zero ability to self-soothe. There is no “choose your battles” with him; he is more of a “fight them all to the death” kind of guy. As a baby and toddler, he had some doozy tantrums, so I guess I shouldn’t be all that shocked. But I spent so much time reading up on how to handle tantrums the “right” way and putting these strategies into action, and all it has left me with is a little bomb walking around our house. If you’ve ever watched the movie, “Inside Out,” Evan is the little red “Anger” dude at its finest, ever so cute and ever so explosive.
We have had a handful of some serious outbursts from Evan over minimal things, anything from the way I said something, or him not getting something he wanted, or asking him to do chores or homework. We can’t even pinpoint what it is exactly that sets him off. He could have a sharp booger in his nose, blame me for somehow putting it in there, and start screaming at me over it. Once he loses his temper, he strikes with some really hurtful words, I’m talking things that would haunt any parent’s dreams. I won’t share the specifics, as I don’t want to paint this picture of him being a sociopath in the making, plus I can’t even write these things without crying. I know they are just a kid’s attempt to get any sort of reaction out of me, but the words cut so deep and scare me to my core. He says the types of things that are putting up red flags for us, like we need to help him now while he is still impressionable. These rants can go on for hours until we finally calm him down. We have tried so many things, from deep breathing, to quiet time, to less punishment and more reward for good behavior, to giving him more control. It’s a crap shoot, sometimes they work, other times it’s useless and we just wait out the storm.
One night after one of his bad tantrums, I was in the shower trying to calm myself down. I was asking myself what the fuck the source of all this anger is, and why is he expressing it in such threatening ways? We don’t let him watch violent shows, he doesn’t play any violent video games, he hasn’t had any issues at school, and the friends he hangs out with do not talk this way. So why all the screaming outbursts? After some quiet time to try to understand it all, it dawned on me that I did this. He’s emulating me, he learned how to be this way from watching me. When he was a baby, Reese was a little stinker getting into trouble and boiling my blood. There was a lot of screaming from me losing my temper. The yelling never stopped, and soon it was directed towards him too when he started being a little trouble maker. He no doubt observed that when Mommy yells, they eventually give in and she gets her way. So of course he’s going to yell until he gets his way, just like me. Through years of practice, he’s just gotten more intense with his yelling, and now that he is more articulate and has a pretty decent vocabulary, he’s expressing himself to the max. This is all on me, I showed him that raging is a normal way to solve problems.
This is where the heartache comes in. I have the best intentions for my family, I want only the best for my kids. I try so hard to give them everything they need, not necessarily everything they want, but enough that they live pretty cush’ lives. But there’s only so much I could take, and days turn into weeks turn into months, and I’m here at maximum capacity of shit I could take and I just explode. So now there’s two “Angers” walking around the house, able to detonate at any point in time. I realize that, despite my intentions, my actions and reactions have broken my children, and that fact is gut-wrenching. I feel an immense sense of guilt and remorse. I feel lost.
I vowed to stop yelling at them, which sadly only lasted for a few hours. Then I adjusted my goal to just reducing the yelling, trying instead to talk really quietly and calmly, taking notes from some of the kids’ preschool and kindergarten teachers. That lasted a few days, not a total fail, just a near fail. But it still wasn’t a strong enough strategy to calm Evan down. I made a deal with the kids and told them that they could call me out whenever I’m raising my voice, and then I’ll take a step back and calm down. That did not work at all because it was just them disrespectfully yelling at me that I was yelling at them, and before I knew it, it was just a good old yell fest up in here. It is a lot of hard work and requires a very conscientious effort to stop what has been years of a natural reaction to yell when I’m pissed off or to express a point, and switch it into a calm speaking voice. That is not me, it has never been me, but I’ll become it if it saves my kids from having disastrous lives.
After lots of talks and implementing various strategies with him, Evan seemed to be working through his emotions slightly better. Though the outbursts have become fewer and have lasted for shorter periods of time, he still falls back into his old comfortable ways, as we all do. Just this past week, as I was getting ready to drop the kids off at school, he raged on me again for something so petty. It was over “Pennies for Patients,” a program where the kids donate money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Obviously this is near and dear to our hearts, so I’m pretty liberal with what they donate from their piggy banks. Well, Evan decided to dump all the money from his spending bank and a chunk from his savings bank (which he is not supposed to touch) because he really wanted his class to win the school contest. I get it, he was excited to give what he could, and given that he has no concept of money or spending whatsoever, such an act is pretty benign to him. I told him he can’t just put all his money in a bag and bring it to school, he should count it and make a more thought out decision. He was having none of that. He started yelling at me about how I don’t know anything, how his teacher wants him to do this, how I never let him do what he wants, how all I care about is making him feel bad, and on and on. My head was spinning and I was at a loss as to how something so little turned into this. I told him to go to Jamie and talk to him like that, say exactly what he said to me in that exact same tone. He refused. This infuriated me. The kids rarely take that sort of confrontational tone with Jamie the way they do with me. They respect him too much, and most days, I feel like they don’t respect me at all. It has gotten to the point that I often find myself saying to them, “Treat me like you treat Daddy. You don’t ask him any questions when he’s on a call, so don’t talk to me when I’m on the phone. You don’t ask him to get you a snack when he’s taking a dump, so don’t bother me when I’m in the bathroom. You don’t talk to him in a sassy way, so don’t talk to me that way either.” Spoiler alert, this method also did not work.
Evan did not calm down, in fact he cried and huffed and puffed during the car ride to school. Then he wouldn’t even say goodbye to me. I said, “Bye, Evan,” but sort of in a ‘Bye, Felicia’ kind of way, and he grunted a ‘bye’ that probably translated to ‘fuck you’ in child speak. I came home and I sobbed, like full blown ugly cry. I couldn’t take it anymore, it finally just all came out.
The sobbing took Jamie by surprise. He knew things were rough with Evan, but I don’t think he knew how much pent up pain I had inside. He tried to calm me down, as Alby very excitedly licked all of my salty “eye treats” off my face. I told Jamie that I’ve had it, I can’t handle all the verbal and nonverbal disrespect I get from the kids, that I just get treated like their punching bag on a daily basis. So many days go by where I feel like the kids walk all over me. Soon they’re going to learn that it’s okay to treat others like this because they do it to Mom. I cried about how I feel like they love me but don’t actually LIKE me, which is a hard pill to swallow. In fact, while I was in their bedrooms last week, I found drawings each of them made. Reese’s picture is of a kid screaming that she is hungry, while the mom is tired and either drinking a cup of coffee or looking at her phone. Evan drew a sign for his door that said, “Stay out,” with an angry monster kid living in an angry monster world. I cried when I found them because it was the truth of how they perceived me from children’s eyes, a tired and angry mom making everyone around her angry too. Of course they don’t like me, I’m the drill sergeant who keeps them on track with time, tells them to do homework and chores, gets them to their activities with all their gear in hand even when they don’t feel like going, tells them no when they ask for more screen time or sugary snacks, refuses to buy them phones (you get the picture). I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t the bad cop. I’m not the fun times parent, never have been, and really, how could I be? Who the fuck does all that on the daily and not yell or lose their shit every now and then? Not me, I’m not built that way. I know there are many moms out there who are a million times more patient than I am, who can get things done without raising their voices, who don’t get frazzled with fucking common core math and getting their kids to all their activities, who don’t lose their cool when their kids lash out at them. I wish, I so so wish I was like that, because that’s the mom I know my kids wish they had. But I’m not, and it feels like I’m a disappointment to them. It makes me feel like shit, that I give them my all until I have nothing left in the tank, and they still don’t respect me or at least show a little gratitude. Alas, my Clair Huxtable aspirations are pretty much dead. I’ve been reduced to a mom version of The Hulk with a bad temper (also my jeans feel like they’re ripping when I put them on due to pandemic poundage; no relation to my temper, just an added similarity).
Jamie suggested that he take over on enforcing the things that the kids hate to do, like their homework and chores. While very thankful for that, in my mind I was also thinking this would have been super helpful five years ago. Better late than never though. At least it will lessen the tendency for the kids to blame me for all things that suck in their lives. He also thought it would be a good idea if we put the kids in an immediate 5-minute “timeout” as soon as he or I feel like we are being disrespected; it is not for a punishment, but rather, to help them take a step back and think about what and how their actions could have made us feel disrespected. Timeouts do nothing but enrage Evan, so we would need to give him some serious prep time to understand this process.
Between nods and tears, I said, “This all sounds great in theory, but in reality, you are in your office working, and so the heat will be directed at me since I’m always with him. How do I take anymore of this from him without losing my own shit the minute he starts raging at me? Am I supposed to just stay calm and take it, because I can’t right now, I don’t have any juice left.” He responded, “This is about HIM taking a step back before he reacts, teaching him how process things before automatically defending himself.” I tilted my head and gave him a look like, is it though??? We both started laughing and I said, “You’re amongst friends here, go ahead and say it, you’re safe. You want to tell me that I need to work on this too. I see it, I agree.” He said, “Weeeeeellll, all I’m saying is that you can’t go full ‘Ely’ on him when he has an outburst, or else we will lose our opportunity to teach him how to stay calm and be empathetic. All that will happen is he’ll see red and lose his temper even more.” “Okay I get it, but again, how do I put this into action if I feel spent already?” I asked. “You could always meditate with me,” he responded with a smile. I laughed it off and said I couldn’t because I had to go to Costco. That’s as close to saying, “Sorry, can’t go on a date with you, I’m washing my hair tonight.” Turns out, spending way too much on bulk items when you’re sad does not make you feel better. It only leaves you with two giant water jugs for activities the kids are not it, a huge corned beef brisket I don’t know how to cook, and so many hydration packets to help me prevent hangovers.
Talking with Jamie made me feel better, now that we had a new plan, and he said he would take the lead on it. When the kids came home, Jamie came out with a list of their chores and things they needed to do before any free time. Both kids looked very confused that this was coming from him, but went with it. The minute Jamie said something about homework to Evan, he started to lose his temper. He literally finishes his homework in less than five minutes, but for some reason, he just does not like to be told what, how, or when to do something. I know what you’re thinking, he sounds like me. But this is actually more like Jamie, so I’m putting this on him. I’ll take responsibility for his defensiveness and quick-temper, that’s all me. Jamie took this opportunity to talk to both kids about how they have been acting lately and the toll it has taken on me. Immediately I started crying again, just a blubbering mess. He told them he has noticed that they are not treating me very kindly, talking and treating me disrespectfully, and gave them specific examples. Evan of course got defensive, while Reese quietly processed the information and carefully watched me as I cried. Evan wasn’t getting it, he didn’t understand why I was crying. I told them I was crying because my feelings were hurt, that I feel disrespected and unappreciated for all I do for the family, that their words, their tone, their eye rolls, their foot stomping, their tantrums are all hurtful. I could see the wheels spinning in Evan’s mind, and his eyes widened when he realized he was the reason I was crying. He hugged me so tight, and strangely enough, I felt bad for even having to tell him this and I cried even harder. Jamie gave me a look and said, “They need to see and hear this.” He told them the new 5-minute timeout plan. Evan gave a little push back, but eventually got on board. Reese remained a quiet observer.
Evan got his homework and chores done, even happily made his lunch with no complaint. After about an hour, he came up to me and said, “Mommy, I really am sorry for making you feel so sad. You know, I’m just getting used to being older, and every year I get older life gets harder. But I’ll do better. Also, this morning I was in a bad mood because I was tired. I stayed up last night 20 minutes past my bedtime watching the Bulls game. When I woke up, I was mad that I had to get out of bed. And you know I have to do so much stuff in the morning, like brush my teeth and eat breakfast. When I got home from school today I was upset because I had a substitute teacher all day and I just missed my teacher. I’m sorry I took it out on you.” Wow, now that was a genuine apology filled with accountability. I responded, “It’s okay, we forgive in this family. I’m sorry for all the yelling too. I’m still learning. Every year I get older life gets harder for me too, so looks like we’ll be growing together. And trust me, I am not a morning person either, ask anyone that knows me. I don’t expect things to be all better by tomorrow, this is a slow process, so we have to remind each other to be patient.” We hugged it out, and I was glad to see a happy Evan again. Later in the evening, Reese left a note on my pillow, apologizing for being disrespectful and promising that she would be better. There is hope after all.
I wish I could say that was the end of the story, that the kids magically became the most loving and respectful children, but that’s not realistic. There have been slip ups, but we acknowledge them immediately, and it seems to snap something in their brains now. It’s kind of like training a dog, you have to immediately give them feedback when they do something wrong, or else the teaching moment is lost. I can’t believe I had to get a dog to understand how to raise a child.
I’m happy to say I finally stopped crying, though my sad and anxious feelings linger. I wonder what sort of long term damage I’ve done to their self-esteem, I question if they trust me to be strong for them, I wonder if and when I’ll ever have a good relationship with them, and I pray they become good adults despite all my parenting mistakes. If Evan grows up to be a narcissistic misogynist, is it because our attempts to teach him accountability failed, and he blames his mother for all that is terrible in his life? If Reese turns into a passive woman that avoids confrontation at all cost, is it because all the yelling in the house growing up was too much for her to take, and she’d rather be a people pleaser to avoid a potential screaming match? Will she be too afraid to speak her mind? I’m haunted by these very possible what-ifs. The pressure to raise good, well-rounded children that become decent and respectful adults can be so overwhelming. The failures from both parents and children during the process are heartbreaking. To watch your child struggle to get through some really difficult times is perhaps the worst of it all. And I wonder, is the struggle a part of growing up, or are they struggling because I didn’t do my part in giving them the right tools to succeed? This is so hard.
Those fabulous TV moms seemed to solve all their problems in the allotted thirty minute time slots, and here I am ten years deep into parenthood, looking for clues on how to raise my kids by watching dog training YouTube videos. Some days I just wish I could hear the happy theme song of one of those shows that signal that all will be right with the family. But lately, all I hear haunting the background of my thoughts is The Imperial March, and destruction feels like it is just around the corner. I just want to know, will the kids be okay? I guess this is my cue to heal, mom up, and make it okay.
The Mundame 