Because Good Moms Don't Throw Tantrums

     I threw a  tantrum this morning.  I took a stuffed animal out of my baby's crib and hurled it with mighty force across the room, almost knocking the lamp off of the boys' dresser. This brief tantrum was followed by a ten minute sobbing session.  I made sure that both of these incidents occurred out of view of my children.  Wouldn't want them thinking their mom was emotionally unstable or anything.  But the truth is, today I am.  Perhaps emotionally exhausted would be a better term for it.  I finally made it to the end of my fraying rope and am now clinging onto the rapidly unraveling end for dear life.  As I sit here, my house is relatively calm.  The only sound is the whirring of the dishwasher.  Ryan is sleeping.  Hyrum is parked in front of the TV (a much better place for him today than with me, believe me) and Morgan is actually in Disneyland with her grandma.  So, what exactly is it that has brought me to the point of unleashing my anger on an innocent stuffed teddy?  I am trying to process the cause of my emotional meltdown through writing, because good moms don't throw tantrums.  Good moms don't scream into pillows.  They don't leave the dishes piled in the sink because they just plain don't care that day.  They don't use the tv as a babysitter. And they definitely don't throw stuffed animals.  Today, I have done all but one of the above.  Today is not my best mom day.  I get sick of moms posting only their most glorious parenting and homemaking moments online.  Today I am getting down to the knitty gritty.  Today I am airing the dirty laundry that I think a lot of mothers have.  Today I am flying the white flag.  I recently watched the movie What to Expect When Your Expecting.  When a pregnancy expert finally becomes pregnant herself after years of infertility struggles, she suffers through the most miserable pregnancy ever.  It all culminates in a scene where she she tells a group of moms to be who are gathered at a parenting expo that she is calling BS on the whole "pregnancy is bliss" thing.  Well today I am calling BS on the whole motherhood is bliss thing.  I have had many blissful mothering moments.  Occasionally their are blissful mothering days involving an empty schedule and a stack of library books.  But in the interest of full disclosure, I also have days when I want to pack a suitcase and head for the hills.  Sometimes being a parent just plain stinks.

     I believe that my emotional meltdown, as 99% of emotional meltdowns do, began with lack of sleep.  I have been burning the candle at both ends for so long that there are really no ends left.....more like a giant puddle of melted wax.  Yesterday I was up for nearly 24 hours before my head finally hit my pillow like a lead weight.  After a day of the usual hustle and bustle, I went out shopping last night. I needed to buy groceries and to pick up a few things for my daughter's upcoming baptism.  I was also hoping to find some new church clothes for the boys.  After searching about half the stores in the city of Idaho Falls, I determined that church clothes for toddler boys are only sold around Christmas and Easter.  I began shopping for groceries at about 10:30.  There were two cashiers at Walmart and about ten customers waiting to check out when I finished my shopping about 11:30.  By the time I checked out, drove the 20 minutes back to Shelley and put all the groceries away, it was about 12:30.  I was asleep by about 1:30.  I had been awake since 4:00am.  This morning I went online and paid $93.00 for two church outfits plus shipping.  I think this may have been the beginning of the breakdown.  My already teetering emotional state was pushed over the edge by a birthday party and a giant stuffed bear. (teddy bears are no friend of mine today).  I thought about naming this post "Bearly Hanging On", but then I was just too peeved to be cutesy or punny. It was the annual Winnie the Pooh birthday party at the North Bingham County library.  As I knew this would be the last year Hyrum could attend (it's for kids 5 and younger), I decided to take the boys over.  What ever caused me to believe that taking Ryan to a library party where children were expected to sit quietly and listen to stories was a good idea I am not sure.  The party was also right in the middle of his usual nap time.  The library reading stage was decked out with Winnie the Pooh books and stuffed animals, none of which Ryan could touch.  He was not happy about this.  I spent the majority of the party pulling him away from the toys while he made very loud protests which elicited irritated stares from all the other moms in the room.  Hyrum was sitting contentedly listening to the stories.  I wanted to yell, "my other son is over there!  Look how nicely he is sitting!  The only reason we are here is for him!"  I wanted to, but I didn't.  I stared briefly at the other mothers, many of whom had children Ryan's age who were sitting still on their mother's laps.  I scooped Ryan up by one leg and carried him out while all the good little children stared in wide eyed horror.  I took him to the toy table, which he immediately began climbing on top of.  Each time I would pull him off the table, he would throw himself on the floor in a fit of hysterics that would have worn Richard Simmons out.  The older siblings of the party patrons who were trying to enjoy some quiet reading time glared at me.  I took Ryan to the foyer......in this instance meaning the four foot square area between the outside and inside glass doors of the library.  He screamed and pounded on the door while I stood indifferently reading each and every flier plastering the wall.  One of the older librarians looked out at me with a smile and a little gleam in her eye that made me think she must have had a Ryan of her own many years ago.  I reentered the library when I saw a girl walk by with a piece of cake.  I should here insert that when we first arrived at the party, I had sat down by a friend of mine.  When I returned for the cake, my seat had been taken by a woman whom I recognized as the mother of one of Hyrum's school friends.  We had talked briefly at the bus stop.  "Hi there"......I began.......and then I heard a "No, no" followed by a blood curdling scream that sounded all too familiar.  Ryan had ventured up to the stage in the two seconds I had turned to greet my friend.  The woman in the giant Winnie the Pooh costume who had been reading the stories had picked him up.  He had had the same reaction that many small children have the first time they sit on Santa's lap.  I rescued him from the scary bear and stuffed some cake in his mouth.  I sat down in the row behind my friends, who were now deep in conversation.  Ryan shoved me off my chair, climbed into it and looked at me expectantly.  Did he want me to bring out the palm fronds and peeled grapes?  I sat on the floor behind my oblivious friends with my unwashed hair in my Bear Lake hooded sweatshirt and soccer mom jeans and shoes.  They sat in front of me with their silent cherubic children in their perfectly coordinated fall boots and scarves, laughing and exchanging phone  numbers.  It was all too much.  The second Hyrum finished his cake, we were out the door.  The drive home from the library was only about two minutes long, but it was long enough for the emotion I was experiencing to build to boiling point.  I will happily here insert that I did not yell at my children.  I have before, but I did not today.  I grabbed a bottle, filled it with milk and threw it in the microwave, stormed off to Ryan's room to get him a fresh diaper.  This is where I discovered that his animals were still in his crib.  He likes his crib to himself, so I had to remove the intruding furry friends, though perhaps not as forcefully as I did.  I must have been a sight to behold; a frumpy soccer mom hurling stuffed animals across the room.  I gave Ryan his bottle, told Hyrum I was going downstairs to the bathroom, and down I went.  I did not actually go to the bathroom.  I curled up in a ball on the couch and sobbed.  

     At that moment I felt lower than low.  I had been running myself ragged for weeks trying to do and be everything for everyone.  Suddenly I felt like no one.  I was completely alone.  I was failing at everything.  I was exhausted and I looked like Cathy Bates from Misery.  Slowly, I emerged from the couch, wiped my eyes and put one foot in front of the other.  I made soup in the crockpot so it would be done by dinner time.  I began going through the mundane motions of daily life.  I took little pleasure in what I was doing.  I did it because it had to be done.  And I guess that's the point.  Life is not always fun and neither is parenthood.  In fact, sometimes it's downright miserable.  But we run around the block, eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's, or maybe throw a teddy bear.  And then we wipe our eyes, dust off our shoes and take a step forward.  The trouble is when we start running so fast that we loose our footing.  As a chronic perfectionist, I do this all the time.  I run and run and run until I hit a brick wall.  Today was a wall day.  This cycle is nothing new for me.  Perhaps it's time I wisen up and start having more realistic expectations for myself.  My only goal for tomorrow is to make it through the day without throwing any of my childrens' playthings.