Shredded nerves


Oh my god, what a night! The minute my hubby picked me up from work with the kids in the car, it was ON.  Apparently they had been great all day and had just decided to be grizzly and whingey (is that even a word?) just for my benefit.

My little boy kept playing with the electric windows in our car – up, down, up, down.  My hubby almost had an accident trying to find the window lock button while driving in heavy traffic. So I asked him to pull over and then I told my little boy if he didn’t stop, he’d get a smack.  He didn’t stop so I smacked him on the hand.

I always try my best not to smack the kids and when I do smack too hard, I absolutely hate myself.

I know there is that debate that smacking should be banned, but how could you possibly police that?

I haven’t heard anyone talk about degrees of smacking. Sometimes I believe you will need to smack ONCE and that’s enough.  If you are like me, you hate that you’ve done it, and that is that. But is it fair to lump parents like me who smack rarely (and always as the last straw) with parents who smack often – and more than once- and don’t even bat an eyelid?

When we got home and had dinner, the kids were niggling at each other and I threatened that if they continued, they would be eating their dinner in their rooms.  So of course they continued.  And then I set up their tables in their rooms.  My six-year-old lost the plot and started crying and yelling, while my four-year-old meekly sat down and actually thanked me for letting him eat in his room!

From then on, my daughter screamed and cried most of the night.  She just couldn’t stop. It broke my heart, but it was also so hard to take – esp. after a long day at work.  I’m tired.  I’m exhausted.  I have almost no reserves left and then I have to face this!

So what were my tactics? Well, I tried to keep my voice low and to keep her calm.  I would walk away when she started yelling and come back when she stopped. But she really did just have to wind herself down, the poor poppet.

We read about four books, had a few cuddles and then just when things were calming down I asked her to take off her nightie because she had spilled lots of her dinner on it – and it all started again! And that’s when the nerves started to shred and I could feel them twanging like a guitar!

The only thing that keeps me sane during those moments is that for some reason, when one kid is losing the plot, the other seems to be an angel.

So I walked away from my girl to put my little boy to bed. Lots of cuddles and kisses for Mummy from him.  When he threw his chubby little arms around my neck for a hug, it was like someone had put soothing balm on my poor nerves and I was ready to face the battle again (which had been standing outside the bedroom door, crying and yelling out for Mummy, by the way).

Hurricane 6-year-old eventually wound down after lots of tummy rubs and soothing words.  Poor chicken. She is going to be exhausted for school tomorrow. And poor me! Hee Hee.

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