What a day...

Today was one of the hard ones. My boyo had a major freak-out over nothing at all. It turns out he wanted to help me bring in the disgusting compost bin, but it took more than 30 minutes of him screaming and crying to be able to tell me that. After several attempts to calmly figure out why there was a major tantrum, I lost it. I yelled, which I hate so much. Every time I do this I feel like he will be damaged forever. Like he will become a stereotypical man who can't access his emotions because his mother wouldn't let him express any. (I pretty much disagree with everything Freudian, but since having a child, I agree that its always the mother's fault. More accurately, all MY fault. I can't speak for what happens in your household. Nice of Freud to blame me so many years in advance. That guy was a regular Nostradamus. About that one topic. In all other ways he was a loon and a pervert. With serious mother issues.)

I just get so worn down from being screamed at. It is by far the hardest part of being a mom. I have never been yelled at so much in my life, and my dad was an honest to goodness MARINE CORPS DRILL SERGEANT. A bit worn down by the time I came along, but still. I want him to stand up for himself and be assertive and all that, but I want him to do it respectfully. Screaming "PUT THAT DOWN" is not on my radar as respectful.

I recently read this book (Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves: Transforming Parent-child Relationships from Reaction And Struggle to Freedom, Power And Joy) that has great, wonderful information in it for parenting and how to handle rough times. It suggests you pause before you say anything and recognize all your issues your child is bringing up for you with their behavior. I love that. But even when I do it, there comes a time when I need a break from the yelling, and asking for one doesn't help. I often ultimately threaten to lock myself in a room somewhere for a few minutes if he can't quit screaming at me. (See, I cry if someone yells at me long enough. Even if its my son. Here lies more evidence for how I am twisting the poor child. He ends up calming down once I am crying. eep.)

The other thing this book does is put everything squarely in the parent's lap if things go poorly. (Like Freud.) double eep. Just so we are clear, its all my fault and I need to get myself together and not yell or cry. Just sit there like a happy mama Buddha as he rants and raves. Got it. Anybody got some earplugs?