Seriously, were truer words ever spoken? I wish I could take credit for them, but this sum-up analogy for our lives is from the keyboard of Catherine, aka Her Bad Mother. HBM’s latest post is entitled Rage, Rage Against the Whining of the Child, and sister, tell it:
…five minutes of my four year old whining about unwarm toast and missing socks and I’m pressing my fingernails into the beds of my palms and sucking in my cheeks and willing myself to just not yell oh god don’t be the mom who yells DO NOT YELL DO NOT YELL –EMILIA ELIZABETH ANN YOU WILL EAT YOUR TOAST YOU WILL SIT THERE WHILE YOU EAT IT I WILL GET YOUR SOCKS AFTER BREAKFAST STOP ASKING FOR YOUR FATHER *NOW*.
Self-loathing, inevitably, follows. Well, Catherine, if it makes you feel any better, I still yell at at least my one of my kids just about every morning. Why are they so gosh darned CRANKY in the mornings? Because they’re tired, I suppose, although that begs the question of why they feel so pressed to arise at 6:05 a.m. There aren’t even any good kids’ shows ON at 6:05. Maggie was in my bed by 6:07 this morning- 23 minutes until Barney- and I tried to get her to snuggle with me for a while but no, she needed both me and Daddy up for the day. So she could start whining at us.
Yesterday morning she got such a head of steam going because I would not “hold her” and port her 28 pounds about during the morning rush of getting four of us out the door that I stuck her in her crib, told her “you have to stay in here until you’re done screaming,” and walked away. For the next ten minutes, I could hear her raging from the kitchen:
“I’M NOT WHINING ANYMORE! I’M NOT WHINING ANY! MORE!!”
…which made her brothers giggle because, um, yes she was. But as soon as she calmed down and I got her out of her crib, I had to take Seamus to his room. He fell apart because Connor touched his raisin toast.
I think this is at least better than yelling. I don’t know, maybe there’s some parenting expert out there who would say it’s evil to let a child tantrum alone, but it’s got to be better than warping them for life when they see my eyes bug out.
Catherine (Her Bad Mother) feels very badly about what she calls being “unreasonably angry” with her kids for their whining. (We can debate whether it’s so “unreasonable,” but she has a point.) But she asks, and I ask you: We’re not the only ones who get “driven batshit” by the whining, are we? Do your kids whine till you think you’ll lose your mind? How do you handle it?