Mum’s confession: I know I’m awful when I yell at my kids

It's normal for mums to get mad sometimes. Picture: iStock
It's normal for mums to get mad sometimes. Picture: iStock

EVERY so often I completely lose it, writes Sara Fitzpatrick.

I fly into a rage, bringing out my inner demon for roughly a minute and a half.

I’ll paint the scene for you: fragments of Kinder Surprise, lolly wrappings, knickers, puzzle pieces, hair clips, bracelet beads, pencils and any number of unidentifiable objects (usually sticky) are scattered across the house.

Additionally, I’m hormonal, sleep deprived, stressed and going through the motions of an everyday existential crisis.

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Being a mother means living with an everyday existential crisis. Picture: iStock

Yes – I’m awful, yelling at the kids and on the rare occasion throwing one of those said items at a door or wall. This is mummy at her worst. What the hell must the neighbours think?

Even my husband – the one with the temper – becomes softer with the kids in these moments, obediently reading Who Has the Yellow Hat in a silly (and somewhat scared) voice as I wind down my tirade.

At my hissy fit peak I see his large eyes widen further, mouth slightly ajar. When I register his shock, and one or both kids are crying, my forehead hurts from scowling and I have dropped the ‘f’ word at least once, I know I have gone too far.

I must look pretty funny really: barely five foot three with a contorted face, hair frenzied and juggling a coffee cup, three Barbies, two books and a sandal.

I know it’s terrible – but hey, don’t I deserve to get it out?

I constantly clean up after two little girls and a fully grown man who can make a pair of New Balance sneakers appear in every room, day or night, like some freakish magic act, and on really special occasions leaves a trail of sand – from his work boots – from the side gate to my front door (never rose petals, just sand).

It’s not just the kids who throw a tantrum. Picture: iStock

And the kids’ mess? How is it always there when I am constantly tidying? It defies rationale…

Most of the time, I don’t mind cleaning up. I actually get a kick out of it. Because as I clean, I cull.

It gives me enormous satisfaction to get rid of things I think the kids won’t miss. Crappy artwork, cheap toys, leftover lollies and tired looking socks.

If I could get away with it, I would chuck out 50 per cent, maybe more, of everything they own. The Marie Kondo method was no revelation to me.

Ditch almost everything – whether it sparks joy or not – that is my motto.  When bath toys get a bit mouldy, I rejoice: Yes! Another thing I can ditch!

Lid is off a Texta: Yippee!  Jumper looking a little tight: better give that to the poor. Hiring a skip bin is one of my life’s little pleasures, one I never saw coming. Much like watering the garden – who knew that could be so bloody rewarding?

Anyway, back to the outbursts – yes, they need to lessen and the swearing is out of line. Thing is, they work!

Before you know it, the kids are back to being little angels. Picture: iStock

After an episode the kids promise to be tidier and cover me with kisses. I apologise, remind them I love them and we’re all the stronger for it.

I think I’m owed a minute-and-a-half, one day a month, for my very own tanty. My three-year-old cracks it when the last packet of Barbecue Shapes has gone.

And God forbid I cut her toast in half without realising that today she would prefer a full slice. The screaming she makes: sounds like she’s being tortured.

Again, what must the neighbours think?

I’m forever saying: “Mummy loves you so much,” “Why are you so gorgeous” and “You’re the best kid in the world.”

So if I slip out: “For f*ck sake, you kids are killing me with your mess, it’s too much for me, I can’t take this shit anymore?” once in a while – is that really so bad?

sara.fitzpatrick@communitynews.com.au

 

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