Slow Simmering Mom Rage

It’s nearly 9 PM, and my husband is working late, which is a rare occurrence. I arrived home early today, a far rarer occurrence. As soon as I walked through the door, my sister wordlessly traded off responsibility of the children and disappeared with a stealth that would shock ninjas.

I’ve been doing this mom thing for the past 3.5 hours alone, and I feel this rage bubbling deep within my mind and spirit.

I’ve been clocking 8-12 hour work days with a low-grade fever for the past three days. Not mindless busy work, but ANALYTICS. CODING. DECISONING. PROBLEM SOLVING. Demanding work while staving off flu-ish fatigue.

Now my kids are annoying me and they keep asking for things like a 3rd after dinner snack, candy, and for me to brew them some green tea sweetened with honey.

My daughter screamed, “I don’t like this movie,” while Pride and Prejudice played in the background on Netflix. It was blasphemy.

Both kids keep talking to me about cartoon characters.

They keep giggling as they climb on me, and I feel like a dog surrounded by newborn pups who don’t understand the WERK I just put in.

I feel annoyed.

I FEEL ANNOYED!

They are laughing and partaking in the loudest horseplay known to mankind, and I’m just over it.

It’s 9:15 and I just clearly stated it was time to go to bed. They giggled and climbed on either side, disrespecting all my personal space.

I feel my limited dambs slowly dissipating into the atmosphere.

I feel this motherhood triggered rage. And I know I must release it or remove myself from the situation.

I don’t want to make the mistakes my mother did. She came from an age where there were no acknowledged mental health repercussions for crappy parenting. Where mothers didn’t ask for help because they either had it (lived near supportive relatives) or didn’t. My mother said things to me as a child I would hesitate to say even jokingly to an adult woman because she was tired, she was cranky, she was overworked, and she didn’t consider that her words could have far-reaching consequences in the lives and decisions of her children.

I can’t boast such ignorance, so even though I am tired, even though my kids are being shady as hell, even though I have the right and the power to snap, I must quench my rage through peace and kindness—the opposite of what I am feeling at the moment.

So, I apologize for screaming “no” to a millionth request.

I soften my voice.

I try to show kindness in my eyes, gestures, and total presence.

I kindly state what will and will not happen. They get some tea, but they do not get sweets. They watch no cartoons because they can not agree and it is too late of an hour.

But I read them a book 2 or 3 times in a row and make all the funny voices they like. Then I sit in silence in a dimly lit room as I wait for them to fall asleep.

Finally, there is peace. I am not fighting rage; it is simply escaping into the atmosphere.

Yet as soon as my husband gets home, my slow-simmering mom rage turns into slow-simmering wife rage because I am still working on showing the same grace extended to my children to my dear, unsuspecting husband.