THE PUBLIC YELL (orig. posted on DECEMBER 16, 2018)

When I was picking up the three kids from their after school programs on campus, one of the boys simply would not leave. I tried getting him outside over and over again, but to no avail. I was getting annoyed and I felt my tolerance level drop. The other two kids followed me as I temporarily gave up in frustration, waiting for him outside, hoping he would leave once he saw we’d left the room. Sometimes this works. Not today. The three of us were out in the cold getting really impatient and irritated.

There was a bit of “Mommy, let’s just leave!”, and some “I just can’t leave him here at school,” etc. So we waited some more. By the time he fiiiiinally joined us, the other two kids were frustrated and they all started fighting. As usual, I was left trying to minimize the damage as the pushing began.

My annoyance level went up even higher while my tolerance level plummeted even lower.

After the fighting settled down, we trudged onward. I couldn’t get to the van soon enough. To get off campus we had to walk through the auditorium, which contained a few kids from one of the after school programs and, on this particular night, a Girl Scout troop meeting.

The son who’d made us wait didn’t want to go through the auditorium for some reason and in my irritated state, I had no empathy or nurturing available to give. After a bit of persuasion and authoritarianism, I finally got him to walk through with me. We rejoined the other two siblings at the main entrance of the school, I opened the door, and we began the glorious ascent down the outside steps. We were almost at the finish line!

I held the door open for each kid as they exited, and the son who’d made us wait went through last, dragging his backpack on the stairs. I told him to stop. He continued to drag it down another two steps. I told him to stop again. He dragged some more. Well, apparently this was the last straw for me.

“DON’T DRAG IT!” I yelled. It shot out of my mouth forcefully and uncontrollably. After I said it, I noticed something shift in the air. It snapped me out of the tantrum-mentality and I became more present in my body and surroundings again. I noticed I was still holding the auditorium door open. Then I looked inside. Apparently my yell had traveled directly into the auditorium and pretty much everyone inside was looking right at me to see who the mean mom was. Even the girl scouts.

Yeah, it’s that moment when you realize your at-home-only-mom slipped out in public in a very public way.

Oops.

Then again, I’m only human. I’m far from perfect, Lord knows. If I can truly let go of that lofty idea that I have to always aim, in every waking moment, to be that wise, unruffled and perfectly balanced parent – even in the face of great stress – parenting will be a lot more rewarding. With that kind of acceptance, parenting mistakes can be seen as chances to grow instead of as additional opportunities to be hard on myself.

Besides, if I were actually perfect or even remotely close to it (for me this means I never lose my temper and always act rationally and thoughtfully, and NEVER reactively), my kids would grow up thinking that that’s how they’re supposed to be too. And they would almost certainly fall short and then, guess what? They’d probably beat themselves up about it. I’d rather have them follow my lead when it comes to self-acceptance over that of self-judgement.

At least that’s what I tell myself to make me feel better when I lose it. But I really do believe it. The repair work I have to do is between me and my kids, not between me and the parents who saw me yelling at my kids. All I can do is repair when there’s a rupture, forgive myself when I didn’t act the way I’d wished I had, and use it as an opportunity to learn and grow. Just like it takes toddlers baby steps to walk, so does it for parents to learn and become strong, positive models for their kids.

And, well…I’m getting to be pretty okay with that.