The Rage Within

No one can push my buttons like my eldest son. In the 3 plus years of being Charlie's Mom, I've learned to let a lot just roll off my back - emptying all of my expensive haircare products onto the bathroom floor; pulling my hair out in clumps in an attempt to give me a 'hair cut'; hiding my expensive watch in the toilet bowl. My reaction depends on how much sleep I've had, most of these infractions would result in some time alone in his room or perhaps loss of TV or whatever object he's deemed most valuable at that moment.

But there are 2 things I cannot ignore and are guaranteed to light my fuse; 1. Child on child violence (meaning my kids, other people's kids beating the crap out of one another actually makes me feel better). 2. Naps being boycotted.

Charlie officially proclaimed yesterday, "Let's Get Mommy to Lose Her Shit and Watch Her Head Spin Around on Her Shoulders Day" and he enlisted his brother's help. First, naps were boycotted by both children. And this was after a long morning spent at a local farm milking goats (no, I'm not kidding), chasing chickens, baking bread and decorating paper bag puppets with wool and chicken feathers. My shit was dragging and all I wanted was a few minutes with a bag of chocolate chips, a jar of peanut butter and my computer.


After 40 minutes of non stop negotiations/threats with Charlie from his bed, it was obvious my tiny window of sacred personal time was gone. I was left feeling robbed and bitter. This impeded my ability to deal with Charlie's all out assault on his brother for the remainder of the afternoon. Meaning things that usually rolled off my back were sticking, like dog shit on your shoe.

When I say shit, I mean smacking Gregory in the head with a wooden spoon, sitting on his head in the kitchen, mashing his poor face into the linoleum, grabbing Gregory by the throat and throwing him off of the couch, pushing Gregory into the toy box as he was reaching for a fire truck.

Oh yeah, this fuse was lit and heading for the powder keg. After each attack I yelled, put him in his room, yelled some more, took away his videos, but still his behavior got worse (shocking). Finally, he pulled his brother down to the ground by his hair then twisted his arm into a half nelson. After uncrossing my eyes and realizing that yelling isn't recommended in any of the parenting books I've read, I decided a change of scenery would do us all good, as well as save a certain 3 year olds' life. So off we went to the park.

I was able to speak in non harsh tones, we played in the sandbox, went on the swings, I even laughed without my face cracking. It was almost a Zen like experience until we got back into the car to go home. Charlie started whining incessantly about wanting water. I could feel that horrible, dark anger slowly creeping it's way out. Despite my better judgment, I decided to be nice and gave him his water bottle. He proceeded to dump the whole thing out on his seat, then flung the empty bottle (which was aluminum) at his brother's head.

Fair to say I reached my tipping point. When Charlie sends me over the edge, yelling is my first reaction - thanks, Dad - then once I get a splitting headache from yelling, I turn passive aggressive - thanks, Mom. The problem is that the cycle of passive aggressiveness is so ingrained in my genes, it's really hard to break. All throughout dinner Charlie kept asking, 'Why aren't you talking?' 'Mommy, are you less angry now?' 'Mommy, are you still mad at me?'

As awful as I felt, I couldn't let it go. Why should he get off easy by me telling him it's okay and that I wasn't mad at him. Isn't there some rule that his suffering should be equivalent to mine? Last count, I had racked up 3 hours in the torture chamber, plus a few extra gray hairs on my head, and minus a few years off my life. But being the adult here, I went the mature route and gave him the silent treatment for a few minutes. Only then did I answer with things like, 'I don't know Charlie, I don't feel like being nice to you.' or 'Well, that depends Charlie, are you going to start being nicer to your brother? or 'Maybe if you act like a nice boy, I'll stop being mad.'

After dinner, I put Gregory to bed. Charlie asked if I would play with him. I told him first I needed a few minutes to clean up from dinner. If only I could have scrubbed every dish in the kitchen and then cleaned the floor with a toothbrush. Exactly 20 seconds passed and Charlie started whining from the other room, "Mommy, come play with me. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? MOMMY!!!" With my mood, I wanted to play with him like I wanted to have sex with Dick Cheney. But I finally succumbed and asked him what he wanted to play. He sighed and said, "Nothing. I wish Teri (our babysitter) was here." Well played grasshopper.