There Is A Rage In Me

There is a rage in me that I cannot control. I do not understand from whence it came, but I cannot get rid of it. I am tired, that is for sure. But it is more than that. This day was not, at any point, my own. I stayed up late at the behest of my husband. We watched a movie which I picked out but which turned out to be much longer than expected. The baby woke up in the middle of the night, which I was sure he was done doing. So while I did get to sleep in this morning, it was not as long as I wished, but since the baby woke up and I needed to feed him anyhow, I got up. From then on, I sat to feed, but otherwise not at all. I had three whiny, needy kids, one of which was sick.

We made plans with neighbors to take the kids to a museum. Right before leaving, one kid vomits. So my husband stays home with the younger two, and I actually look forward to taking “the easy one.” Well, he didn’t eat enough before we left, and the bad behavior proved it. He didn’t want to wait his turn, he whined and was selfish, and he wouldn’t listen to me. So I had to take him out of the exhibit and take him to the cafeteria to get him some food. That improved his behavior considerably, and while I was physically pretty tired, mentally, I was much relieved.

And then I got home. My husband calls up that I need to get downstairs right away. I take off my shoes, put away my keys and phone, and am hanging up my coat, as the comments come up that I’m not doing a good job coming down right away. I get downstairs (annoyed at the undeserved attitude I’m receiving) to discover that the sick one has vomited all over the couch and that I need to help clean up. A little heads up would have been appreciated. An hour later, my husband heads off to work, leaving three hungry, whiny kids in a messy house – and mentions that he’d like to go to his parents’ house the next day.

The sick one, the one who keeps vomiting, had a few Wheat Thins and some juice for dinner. The elder one ate his food, but perhaps it wasn’t enough because after their bath, the whining returned.

The battles exhausted me. The neediness tried my patience. I just wanted to talk peacefully on the phone for a few minutes, but they would keep fighting. And when they didn’t, the baby would scream. Finally, they were in bed and I read their stories. Then I “stayed a little while” until the baby fussed and I wanted and needed to go have my own time (with the baby in tow, of course, which makes it really not count). But when I tried to leave, the little one, the sick one, asked me to stay. He even said please, so incredibly sweetly. And I couldn’t do it. I lost it. I screamed. I yelled. I threatened spankings if the talking didn’t stop. My fuse was so incredibly short and kept going off. And all the while I knew – intellectually – that they weren’t being bad, they weren’t being unreasonable. They were just being kids needing their mommy. And I couldn’t be there for them, because I needed to be alone, and so my guilt mixed in with this exhaustion and impatience and anger inside me to make this bubbling, frothing, oozing, rotten cauldron of blackish, greenish, emotional sludge that needed to be gotten rid of.

But I don’t know how.

I take a deep breath. I can do this. I told myself earlier that to get out of this rut, out of this toxic emotional quicksand, I needed to cleanse my body. I needed a healthy snack. I had yogurt. But it wasn’t enough. So I followed that with a slice of cheesecake and a brownie. What I really wanted was an apple, but we’re all out. My husband ate the last one today (after I told him that I’ve wanted to eat it but haven’t because it’s the last one and I can’t deprive my kids). So I’m thinking about how I really need to go to the grocery store tomorrow morning, but I don’t know when. I was thinking about making French toast tomorrow morning with a week-old loaf of bread, but now I can’t imagine having to deal with all those dishes that will surely be waiting for me when we get back home in the evening after visiting my in-laws and my husband goes to work.

I’ve felt like this before. Many times. And I’ve gotten past it. And I’ve discovered that when I’m feeling overwhelmed, when I don’t think I can do it all, and I try to scale back my activity, that’s when the negativity grows. But when I just act, and I try to do more, running a million errands, planning the week’s menu ahead of time and cooking without depending on my husband for help, I do fine. It’s when I think I need help when I am the most helpless. And that is not how I want to feel.

Well, someone needs me. Gotta go.