knitting for calm down activity
The other day, I had one of my worst anger blow up at my youngest child.
As most days, by the end of the evening, patience are running low, body feels tired, and kids are more cranky. But when my 4 year old complained about the lovingly prepared dinner without even trying a bite, and then proceeded to be rigid over how his sister wanted to orient the nugget-comfort tumbling station, I lost it. If my usual angry mommy volume is a 5, this time, it was a 9.5. I could feel my lungs clearing cobwebs, is how loud I was yelling. Part of me knew I should tone it down, and move on, but another part of me wanted to instil the fear in my child that mommy is mad, and don't mess with mommy. There is also this insane irritation over a child's whiny voice... it shrieks into my inner peace, and places cracks in my bucket. It's surely related to PTSD! Sometimes when I fear a child misbehaving at a store, I have to quickly remove myself from that aisle/section/store just to protect myself.
Anyways, after my shpiel of yelling at my little one about: what's the big deal with putting the mat this way? does everything have to go your way? your toys being all over this room isn't enough? I stomped up stairs, slammed the door, locked it, and sat in my bed with podcasts playing in my airbuds, and knitting in my hands. I was going to tune everything out; my son's whimpers, his pleading knocks on the door, his attempt at apology with sharing his post dinner mango slices with me. An hour later, my husband texted me from downstairs that my son was put to bed. I was starting to calm down, but part of me was both feeling relief from letting my anger out, and sadness tears that I could get this upset at my sweet son for doing something that any normal child his age could be doing.
As most days, by the end of the evening, patience are running low, body feels tired, and kids are more cranky. But when my 4 year old complained about the lovingly prepared dinner without even trying a bite, and then proceeded to be rigid over how his sister wanted to orient the nugget-comfort tumbling station, I lost it. If my usual angry mommy volume is a 5, this time, it was a 9.5. I could feel my lungs clearing cobwebs, is how loud I was yelling. Part of me knew I should tone it down, and move on, but another part of me wanted to instil the fear in my child that mommy is mad, and don't mess with mommy. There is also this insane irritation over a child's whiny voice... it shrieks into my inner peace, and places cracks in my bucket. It's surely related to PTSD! Sometimes when I fear a child misbehaving at a store, I have to quickly remove myself from that aisle/section/store just to protect myself.
Anyways, after my shpiel of yelling at my little one about: what's the big deal with putting the mat this way? does everything have to go your way? your toys being all over this room isn't enough? I stomped up stairs, slammed the door, locked it, and sat in my bed with podcasts playing in my airbuds, and knitting in my hands. I was going to tune everything out; my son's whimpers, his pleading knocks on the door, his attempt at apology with sharing his post dinner mango slices with me. An hour later, my husband texted me from downstairs that my son was put to bed. I was starting to calm down, but part of me was both feeling relief from letting my anger out, and sadness tears that I could get this upset at my sweet son for doing something that any normal child his age could be doing.

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