Just Words...

This isn't the post I wanted to have up on my blog as my first post after successfully finding my lost camera*. I wish I was writing about the kids last days of school, our packing and moving out of our little apartment, our big lovely new home with space for every one, our days at the beach, the park and the baseball game...

No, this is not any of those posts...

This is the post of how I lost it completely tonight--completely lost it--as in throwing the MOTHER of all tantrums while my terrified children looked on.

When I was a teenager a trusted, elderly, gentleman (you could call him a Patriarch) told me one day I would have a home where "kindness and patience are the rule of life." I've spent a lot of time cursing that "patience" bit. Why couldn't it have been "kindness and love" or "kindness and compassion" or how about "kindness and money beyond your wildest dreams"? Yhea, why not that last one?

I am disastrously handicapped in the "patience" department. All of my fuses are short and for some reason becoming a Mother has not helped in extending my fuses. Mr. Anderson would never use the descriptive phrase "cool-headed" to describe his wife. "Crazy as a bag of snakes" is much more likely to leap to his mind if asked to describe me. (Second only to the phrase "sexiest woman in the world"--perhaps this is why we have so many kids?)

So why would I ever have a home where "kindness and patience are the rule of life"?!?

What happened, you ask? Just the usual craziness at dinner time.

My least favorite time of the day is right before dinner time--starting at about 4:30 pm I'd say. That is when the kids are tired and hungry and dinner still needs to be made. All through the dinner prep time they are fighting or harassing their mother with questions like "What are we having for dinner?" Then when they see the dinner set on the table (with very, very, very few exceptions--like candy) they always start complaining about the food. Then there is the dinner-time-bargaining session where they try to bid their way out of eating any actual dinner. "Can I not eat the potatoes? Can I eat 5 more bites and be done? If I scatter my food all over my plate and on the table will that count as eating it?"

It is exhausting...times 10.

So tonight, we've gone through the first little bit of our dinner-time fencing match and I am about to set dinner on the table. I see the table is covered in the craft project I asked one kid to take care of earlier. Also, the path to the table is covered in magnolia leaves that another kid has just dragged inside to make a "snail habitat". (Really? A snail habitat? I've got a snail habitat for you--it's called: outside. You should check it out some time.)

I start telling the various children to take care of their messes. They are ignoring me. The baby falls off the bench at the table and cracks her head on our tiled floors (the only thing I do not love about our new house). Aaaaaaannnnnddddd BAM! I go berserk.

I scoop up the screaming 20 month-old and start chucking things off the table. Zip--there goes the craft magic model fusion stuff. Whack--the Wii remote gets flung across the room. Crash--my one arm clears the table of whatever paper, books, crayons and ziplock baggies are left while my other arm keeps the baby on my hip. "Uh-oh ppay-doe" says the baby.

More crashing, banging and general mess making happens as I slam closed all the open cupboard doors in the kitchen and rip out the drawers for silverware. In my head I am cursing like a sailor and saying useful things to myself like "If no one else cares about having a clean house--then neither do I! I need some forks--this is a spoon--slam--throw it across the kitchen."

It was awful...awfully therapeutic. My Mother used to say she wanted a cement room where she could just go and break dishes when she was frustrated. One sweet friend even brought my Mother a box of old plates to get her started. I never got that part of my Mom until tonight. I would have loved to smash every dish in our house. Too bad I mostly own plastic IKEA dishes...

I kicked over the full trash can. "Uh-oh twwasssh" said the baby on my hip. I threw the (plastic) plates on the table. I tossed a dining room chair into the living room. I (gently) put the baby in her high chair--my tantrum had calmed her waaaaay faster than any hugs and kisses ever have. I slopped food onto the kids plates, shouted out "Dinner is ready!" and locked myself in my room because obviously, I needed a time-out.

Then I cried.

My poor horrified children slid comforting-love-notes under my door with words like: "Careful, you might love this! Thanks so much for all you do! I love you!" (from Lorien) and "Thank you so much mom. Thank you for all the dinners. Thank you for all the family trips. I love you. Thank you for being a great mom." (from Wyatt) and "I love you! Love, Clare" (from Clare).

Then Will came home--to the mess and the horrified children. (Who were not eating their dinner!)

Right now, I can hear them all cleaning up my tantrum. I am trying to feel bad about them having to clean my messes for once--but I am not having much luck. I am also trying to find the courage to go out and apologize for my tantrum. That might have to wait until tomorrow.

I am putting myself to bed early tonight.

*I found my camera--then I dropped it twice while we were out on a hike. Now it wont turn on. Rats.