My All-Time Mommy Low

The image of Cal quietly sitting at the kitchen table eating his before-school dose of animal crackers this morning popped into my mind throughout the day.  He was alone and already had his coat on and fully zipped, its hood pulled over his head as only Cal wears it that I know of.  I hadn’t heard one peep out of him about his clothes or his shoes – if they bothered him, he didn’t let on that they did.  At least, I didn’t hear him complain about them, not that I could have.  I was too busy yelling at Ella – I mean, flat out screaming at her – triggered by her deliberate vacillation about what to wear today.

"I want to wear that dress... no, I don't want to wear it... I don't want to wear that skirt... or that skirt... or that skirt... or that skirt... I want to wear that dress (same dress)..." and so on.  It ended with me throwing a shirt at her as I yelled, heading toward the door, instinctively slamming it, returning to the closet where she was still standing and yanking a different dress off the rod and throwing it on her.  Her response?  "Button it."

Needless to say, I didn't button it.

I’m sad that Cal, going about his own happy morning business, had to hear it.  In the moment, I didn’t think about how it might affect him.  In the moment, I knew of myself and the subject of my madness, my dear, sweet, cute baby girl, Ella.  Yeah, right.  She wasn’t all that this morning.  This morning, she was holding a pitchfork and had horns growing out of her head.  Or was that me?

I’m embarrassed to tell the story of how I even got to that point - it wasn't just the vacillation. For one, I really don’t think I can do it justice – how do you explain to someone how nuts it makes you that your kid, at bedtime, wants to give you yet another kiss and a hug and tell you – announcing from her room for all in the house to hear - she loves you numerous times, getting louder with each unacknowledged proclamation?  Second, she’s three – what kind of mother, in response to being told to turn her onto her belly or wipe her tears because she “can’t do it herself” verbally lays into her three-year-old using phrases like “you’re playing me” and “God dammit!” while sending repeated blows to the floor? What kind of mother verbally lays into her three-year-old period?  Lastly, I actually said for the first time this morning, “I don’t even like her.  I don’t even like my daughter” as I scrambled down the stairs, tears streaming down my face, my body numb and nearly limp from defeat.  Who lets her daughter get to her that much and, what's more, who says that about her own daughter?

I felt great about myself all day.  The possibility that I may have unintentionally hurt or scared Cal made me feel even better.  And by “great” and “better” I mean really, really, really disappointed in myself.

I’ve had people tell me Ella’s stubbornness and strong will are good traits to have.  She’ll do well in the world.  Oh, yeah?  I want to tell them, “not in my world… she's not doing well in my world right now.”  In my world, every single request I make of her is met with resistance or challenge.  I’m not kidding.  EVERY SINGLE THING, be it big or small, be it about something she can't do (but wants to) or can do (but doesn't want to).  It's hard to tolerate in such large quantities.

I had to listen to her whine, scream and cry for a good hour yesterday, a tantrum of sorts that started when Dan, instead of carrying her per her demand, offered his hand to her to walk down the stairs together.  That wasn't an acceptable offer, so he left her at the top of the stairs.  I let it go on a bit and then offered to help - she'd only take the help if it was per her rules (i.e. carry her); I offered a compromise (i.e. hold her hand), which she declined.  So I left.  I even eventually offered to carry her down the stairs if she'd just come to my room.  She declined even that until it came time for me to go downstairs.  Too late, sister... too late.

I need a break from it.  I need her to be nice to me.  I need her to not challenge me for a day… for an hour window… heck, for one request.  I need her to not kick me when I try to put her pajamas on after refusing to do so herself.  I need her to walk down the stairs without having a meltdown after I’ve told her that I can’t carry her because I need to carry a load of laundry down.  I need her to ask me ONLY ONCE from her bed if I've closed my door (yes, my daughter worries about my closing my door for some reason unbeknownst to anyone capable of logical thinking... heck, Zoe, our cat, doesn't even know), as if one time is even acceptable.

In between meetings and brain cycles on work deliverables throughout the day, I replayed the events from this morning and then thought about my next steps, motivated by my not wanting to be a yelling mom, for my kids to not think that yelling is okay and for Ella to just be a nicer, less bossy person.  Here's what I've come up with so far:

First, re-boot myself so that my patience and tolerance for Ella as she tackles toddlerhood is back to an acceptable parenting level.  My short fuse certainly isn't helping the situation.

Second, no more yelling.  I'm tired of hearing myself played back to me when my kids yell in response to a situation not going as they'd like.

Third, no more instant "No."  I think Ella is playing that back to me just as I deliver it to her.  I will still say "No" but differently... more thoughtfully, as if to suggest a reason, which I always have but just don't necessarily communicate.

Fourth, have Ella select her next-day outfit the night before and lay it out for her.  We did this with Cal to mitigate the risk of him having his own clothing meltdown in the fast-paced, time-crunched mornings, and have only done it spottily with Ella.  It works, so we'll do it religiously.

Fifth, enforce the time-boxed bedtime routine at all times.  If they (Cal included) choose to run around and play instead of getting ready for bed, then they get no books at the end of it.  It's their choice.  If Ella chooses to battle getting her jammies on, then no books for her (and likely no jammies).  Again, it's her choice.

Sixth, stick with the "Frozen" soundtrack.  We played it for each of the kids once they were lying in their beds last night and again tonight.  While not a cure-all, it did seem to make things a little better... a few less "I love yous" and "are you not closing your doors?" coming from Ella's room to acknowledge from wherever I am in the house before she fell asleep.

Seventh, offer to hold Ella every once in awhile during a tantrum or unwarranted obstinacy (if she'll let me).  Maybe this will calm her down and help me yell less.

Eighth, reintroduce the Reward Chart to encourage Ella to listen, cooperate grow and just be a nicer person.  Thus far, encouragement for good behavior hasn't reduced the amount of Ella's "sad choices" (a school term); and the Reward Chart concept has been a little lost on her.  Maybe it's worth another try.

Ninth, threaten to put jeans on her if she doesn't cooperate in the morning.  Ella does not like jeans.  It's a win-win for me - if it works, she cooperates with getting dressed; if it doesn't work, she wears jeans, something I like.

Tenth, look for options - aka distractions - to eliminate.  Ella has a seemingly endless list of pre-bed things to do which is only stopped when Dan or I lose it, thereby putting an end to it.  The other day, it was flip-flopping stools in the bathroom that set me off - maybe we just keep one stool in the bathroom.

Eleventh, get help if 1-10 don't seem to be working. Dan and I are being presented with unprecedented levels of toddlerhood, and I shouldn't be too proud to suggest that I have no clue what I'm doing.  I will take any help I can get.

Twelfth, make sure Cal gets good, Ella-less attention and hugs from me.  I don't know if he needs that, but I need to give that to him.

If they didn't get me to my all-time low, the events of this morning certainly felt like I'd reached an all-time low, at least as a parent.  Writing about them is therapeutic.  And, it turns out, the image of a coated Cal innocently and contentedly sitting at the kitchen table, eating his animal crackers while I yelled at Ella is my primary motivation to change.