Why Must I Repeat Myself?

Today was one of those days where if someone offered to take my kids in exchange for a bag of Halloween candy, I would have said, 'You have yourself deal'. Don't get me wrong, it would have to be good candy; no Necco Wafers or Charlston Chews, I'm talking Peanut Butter Cups and Snickers. I have standards you know.

I spent my entire day yelling the same things over and over again. "Stop choking your brother. Leave your brother alone. We do not hurt our brother. That's it, no TV tonight. Do you want to go to bed right now?"

I felt like President Bush with his constant threats to Kim Jong Il of North Korea. "Stop testing those nuclear weapons. Don't you dare produce anymore plutonium. We do not share nuclear secrets with other communist countries. Do you want your luxury goods sanctioned again?" Gosh that man must be tired, because I sure am.

I'm not proud of my behavior, I officially lost control. By 3:30 pm, Charlie put his brother in his 25th choke hold of the day and I didn't know what else to do. So I kept with the theme of the day and yelled. "WHY CAN YOU NOT LISTEN TO ME? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? ARE YOU TRYING TO DRIVE ME CRAZY?" He just stared at me, with his arm still around his brother's neck. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into his room, "STAY IN THERE AND DO NOT COME OUT UNTIL I TELL YOU TO."

Less than 30 seconds later I see this little smiling boy come flying by me, giggling, prancing, defiant. I'm so angry that I am blinded. I want to hurt him, I want to make him cry. While I would never do the former, I did the latter. "That's it, Gregory and I are going for a walk. You have made me so angry that I need a time out from you. You are going to stay here by yourself." Tears and screaming, 'NOOOOOOO, Mommy. Don't leave. DON'T GO!' Obviously I wouldn't leave him alone, but I knew the reaction I would get.

I wish I could say I felt bad, but I didn't. I was happy. Happy he was crying. Happy I was making him suffer like he had his brother. I'm sure I just gave Charlie another chapter in his future memoirs (think 21st century version of Mommy Dearest), but I don't care. Judge me as you like, but you have never felt such rage as when you watch one of your kids inflict harm upon the other.

Tonight as I sit here and type, as pissed as I am, I know I have to do better. I cannot subject my child to this level of anger. My blood pressure, sanity and conscience cannot handle it either. Ironically, today in a local mom's newsletter that I get, a marriage and family therapist gives advice to parents with a child with behavioral issues. She references a book, "How to Behave So Your Preschooler Will, Too" by Sal Severe. I laughed, loudly and heartily. I'm not sure where I stand on the coincidence versus fate argument, but I bought that damn book. But in this case, at this moment, the universe has spoken, maybe even yelled.