A couple weeks ago, I posted a story about what happens when I try to play tabletop games with my children: Mom Rage.
We’ve all experienced it, but what do we do about it?
Step one is to recognize that you’re about to read parenting advice from someone whose oldest child is five. So, take this with a Costco-size grinder of Himalayan rock salt, and if you actually want help, find someone who has great teenagers. I have way more than one thousand words to say about this, which should have everyone wary. Maybe if I knew what I was talking about I could simplify. As it stands, I’ve limited this second edition of Mom Rage to three action items:
1. Incorporate DC ≠ U, ID ≠ K.
2. Heighten the ELoR
3. Make and enjoy this delicious Turkey Wrap (recipe included)!
DC ≠ U, ID ≠ K
Direct Communication does not equal Unkindness, Indirect Communication does not equal Kindness.
Let’s visit another scene from the Hinds house.
I’m in the kitchen chopping strawberries on a cutting board with a sharp knife. A tiny hand reaches up and snatches a cut berry. I respond by saying, “Oh, my sweet cherry blossom, would that you keep your winsome fingers away from this sharp knife! If you reach up on the counter while I’m dividing and dispensing the bounty of the earth, you may find yourself cut unawares.”
My other (better) option was to say something like, “Stop. STOP. Please move your hand!”
You cannot spend your entire day justifying yourself and your decisions to tiny food critics who habitually fight over things you bought for them. Another scene from Hinds House: I tell the kids we’re having Mac and Cheese for lunch. Simultaneous responses:
“It’s homemade, right? I only like the homemade!”
“It’s from the box, right? I will only eat it if it’s from the box, the blue one!!”
In this kind of environment, indirect responses cost a tremendous amount of energy and contribute to pressure build-up. When I spend all day communicating indirectly, 3 p.m. rolls around and I start yelling about six blocks left out on the floor. Or, even worse, I become passive aggressive. Default to direct communication – not being mean, but saying what you mean, even when what you mean is “STOP.”
ELoR
Heighten the Expected Level of Ridiculousness.
The following things are very normal (note: not “desirable,” just “normal”):
Whining. Yelling. Pouting. Crying. Snapping. Fighting. Complaining about eating and living conditions that are, compared to respective chronology and geography, excellent. Speaking without thinking. Being way louder than intended. Being way rougher than intended. Needing constant reminders about the rules and the schedule. Procrastinating on household duties. Forgetting what other people asked for. Nitpicking siblings and in-laws and spouses. Well… yep.
We need a higher Expected Level of Ridiculousness for our children, but also for ourselves. We don’t need to be surprised by our own mistakes – “What? Me? How COULD I have?” (Faints on fainting couch). The enemy can keep you there for a long time.
Don’t let him.
When it comes to family life, it’s easy to freak out or to tune out, which are both expressions of rage. These reactions are rooted in the way you talk to yourself:
“These children are so completely out of line!”
“I am so totally unequipped to handle this!”
“Nothing like this would ever happen at my sister’s house!”
When you heighten the expected level of ridiculousness (i.e., a child wanting to jump up and down in the bathtub is “normal” but not “desirable”) you create more space to talk to yourself about these things reasonably:
“I need to step in here.”
“I will just use the towel that’s already on the bathroom floor.”
“I want to scream (normal feeling), but I can just say STOP.”
When you are constantly exposed to an internal monologue that insists that you are not good enough and your circumstances are insane, it is going to be very difficult to keep your cool.
Turkey Wrap
Here’s what you need:
A couple tortillas.
Three pieces of Romaine lettuce (washed).
Several slices of deli meat (I like turkey, but chicken would work, too).
Fancy pants dressing. Go cheap on the other ingredients, spend money on the dressing. I like Brianna’s Asiago Caesar.
Get a large-ish bowl. Rip the lettuce and the deli meat into small pieces directly into the bowl. Add a lot of dressing and toss with a fork if you don’t want to get tongs out. Split evenly among tortillas and wrap.
This is called lunch.
Your kids won’t want any because it’s green and the dressing tastes weird.
It’s very, very possible that Mommysaurus Rex is on the prowl because she hasn’t had enough protein today. So make yourself a turkey wrap. Or something else. But don’t eat Kraft mac and cheese out of the pan (unless you want to), because you are also a person. And you still need things. And that is okay.
Mom Rage, Part the Second
I like the turkey wrap! May become a school lunch staple.
Thanks for keeping it real! :) Great recipe!