Are you mad at you?
“Where are your gloves?”, I snapped at Darling Angel. “If you put them where they belong, we won’t have to waste time for them now”, I say as I find her another pair.
We’re trying not be late for swimming class and I’m mad at her because she’s going to make us late.
I hurriedly throw a diaper, a toy and a sippy cup in the gym bag since I don’t want to lug along a diaper bag as well. Hubby has errands to run this morning wbich means I have to take Baby Brother’s along with us to Darling Angel’s swim class.
“Where’s your hat?” I snapped. She had it a minute ago and has managed to misplace it while I foundher gloves. I’m getting really impatient with her.
We finally get into the car. Swim class starts in 3 minutes. We have a 10 minute drive. I’m upset.
“It’s her fault we’ll be late”, I think. “No, it’s not her fault”, I realize. I’m really mad at myself. It’s not her. It’s me. I stayed up late into the night, woke up late Saturday morning, and didn’t get everyone ready until crunch time. I was the one who signed her up for a Saturday morning class. What was I thinking? In winter time!
The poor girl is only 5 years old. Almost 5 years old. I reflect back on myself at that age. Had there been a winter in Nigeria, someone would have always put my stuff in their place and layed them out when I needed them. Less responsibility was required of me at her age. More responsibility is not a bad thing though. It would help immensely if she learned to put away her stuff in their appropriate places rather than flinging her gloves under the couch. But I need to hold more realistic expectations. ”Why doesn’t she take more after her dad?”, I lamented to myself. He’s pretty good about such things. “Why did she take after me?” “Ouch! This really is my fault!” And here I am getting upset with my her, holding her to a different standard than I hold myself.
By the time we get to swim class, I’m practically laughing at myself. “We’re late. So what?” We get out of the car into the nipping cold. Baby Brother goes in his stroller and we hurry to swim class. I strip Darling Angel down to her swim suit and try to lead her to her class. She hurries along, she knows where to go. She doesn’t need me holding her hands. She’s so excited to be there.
I know that as moms, we tend to shoulder a lot of guilt, more guilt than we deserve. But sometimes when we’re mad our kids (or our spouse), perhaps we’re really mad at ourselves. Or perhaps we’re upset for a completely different reason - something at work, the driver who grabbed the parking spot you were gunning for, the deer that collided with your car (had a close call yesterday).
When you find your temper running short, take a deep breath and ask yourself, “why am I really mad?”. You may just find out that there’s nothing to be mad about.
