Ka-Boom!
I blew up at my kid today.
I am a stern, but loving mom. My son has a healthy fear of my authority, but knows I love him. Tonight I scared myself, and him too.
I asked him to change the sheets on his bed and he had a bit of a challenge with it. No problem, I helped, but then I found what was under his mattress. A bottle of his father's special order butterscotch rootbeer. Not a big deal. It could have been a bottle of real beer had we had some in the house, but the fact that he snuck it made me upset. I called his dad to see the evidence, and let him deal with it. Moments later, I was called back to his room. Not only was the empty rootbeer bottle there, there was my husband's foot long dager he bought for renaissance festival garb, 2 of my bras and a game boy that we did not buy for him.
My blood pressure rose, he told us he didn't know how that stuff got there. A bold face lie, right to my face. Not a flinch. I went nuts. I spanked him (which has only happened a few times in his life and not since he has been "grown up") I called him a thief and told him he was lying to me, and I would not tolerate liers in my house. I threatened, I yelled and I felt like shit as my kid cried.
He did tell me the truth. He knows taking the rootbeer was wrong but "he was thirsty" (he did acknowledge that he has never been for want of something to drink.) He did admit that he took my bras because he was curious as to what they felt like (he has a cruch on a girl in his school who is an early bloomer.) He admitted that he took his father's dager, waved it around a few times in his room then tucked it under his mattress because he couldn't get it back where it came from without being caught. And the game boy he bought from a classmate last year for $2.00. It was broken and didn't have any games with it so I'm not sure why he wanted it in the first place. I asked if there was anything else he wanted to fess up about since he was coming clean, and he admitted he had my husband's epee in his closet as well.
I still feel like shit. I said some terrible things. I hit him. I HIT HIM. What the hell is wrong with me. I know he wasn't abused, I didn't wail on him it was much more of an emotional hurt than anything, but I hit my child in anger and I am ashamed. I cried. He knows I feel bad about losing my temper, because I told him I was wrong. I told him I lost my temper and that is no excuse for my behavior. I feel horrible still.
I told him I love him. I held him for over 1/2 hour. He kissed me, said he loves me and he forgives me, and he is sorry he did what he did.
I still feel like shit.
We gutted his room. Packed everything up in garbage bags and boxes and they are all in the guest room. We will go through them in the weeks to come. We were going to do this anyhow, he has outgrown so many of his toys, he wants to give them away to kids less fortunate. His room is spotless, vacuumed and rearranged. I'll help him figure out what to keep and what can go. I just hope I can heal from what I did. I feel horrible.
I remember so clearly the arguments I had with my father growing up. Some of them still hurt. But he never hit me. I hit my child. I may never forgive myself for this. I hope some day Edward can. He says he does, but I can't believe him yet. How can he forgive me when I can't forgive myself?
I am a stern, but loving mom. My son has a healthy fear of my authority, but knows I love him. Tonight I scared myself, and him too.
I asked him to change the sheets on his bed and he had a bit of a challenge with it. No problem, I helped, but then I found what was under his mattress. A bottle of his father's special order butterscotch rootbeer. Not a big deal. It could have been a bottle of real beer had we had some in the house, but the fact that he snuck it made me upset. I called his dad to see the evidence, and let him deal with it. Moments later, I was called back to his room. Not only was the empty rootbeer bottle there, there was my husband's foot long dager he bought for renaissance festival garb, 2 of my bras and a game boy that we did not buy for him.
My blood pressure rose, he told us he didn't know how that stuff got there. A bold face lie, right to my face. Not a flinch. I went nuts. I spanked him (which has only happened a few times in his life and not since he has been "grown up") I called him a thief and told him he was lying to me, and I would not tolerate liers in my house. I threatened, I yelled and I felt like shit as my kid cried.
He did tell me the truth. He knows taking the rootbeer was wrong but "he was thirsty" (he did acknowledge that he has never been for want of something to drink.) He did admit that he took my bras because he was curious as to what they felt like (he has a cruch on a girl in his school who is an early bloomer.) He admitted that he took his father's dager, waved it around a few times in his room then tucked it under his mattress because he couldn't get it back where it came from without being caught. And the game boy he bought from a classmate last year for $2.00. It was broken and didn't have any games with it so I'm not sure why he wanted it in the first place. I asked if there was anything else he wanted to fess up about since he was coming clean, and he admitted he had my husband's epee in his closet as well.
I still feel like shit. I said some terrible things. I hit him. I HIT HIM. What the hell is wrong with me. I know he wasn't abused, I didn't wail on him it was much more of an emotional hurt than anything, but I hit my child in anger and I am ashamed. I cried. He knows I feel bad about losing my temper, because I told him I was wrong. I told him I lost my temper and that is no excuse for my behavior. I feel horrible still.
I told him I love him. I held him for over 1/2 hour. He kissed me, said he loves me and he forgives me, and he is sorry he did what he did.
I still feel like shit.
We gutted his room. Packed everything up in garbage bags and boxes and they are all in the guest room. We will go through them in the weeks to come. We were going to do this anyhow, he has outgrown so many of his toys, he wants to give them away to kids less fortunate. His room is spotless, vacuumed and rearranged. I'll help him figure out what to keep and what can go. I just hope I can heal from what I did. I feel horrible.
I remember so clearly the arguments I had with my father growing up. Some of them still hurt. But he never hit me. I hit my child. I may never forgive myself for this. I hope some day Edward can. He says he does, but I can't believe him yet. How can he forgive me when I can't forgive myself?
posted by Angela | 23:13
1 Comments:
You are an awesome mom. And Paul is an awesome dad.
First and foremost.
Always.
Secondly, you're human. And you are not extraordinary in every way. A lot of ways, yes, but not always nor in everything you do. Sometimes you're just downright normal. Nothing less than that. If it was less than that, than you can add to your grateful list friends who will tell you when you're really being a shit.
You're not. If you were, I'd say so.
Mostly, I just feel badly for you for feeling so badly about it.
My parents did hit, but rarely. My dad went through a "spare the rod" stage, and I think made sure each of his eight kids all knew he wouldn't let us be spoiled. I'll never forget that. It terrified me. My mom also hit me. Hardly never, and only once or maybe twice that I can even remember. But what I think of it now? I was a real shit and she should have hit me for the way I was behaving. I probably would have hit myself if I could go back in time now and see how crappy I was being to such a wonderful woman.
It also was a great way for me to know when I had really stepped over a line, which is what most parents who don't hit their kids will tell you when they do hit their kids. It's usually a button the kid pushed, one that is hugely important to you. It's a good way for you to identify that button and find other ways, now, to work with being sure the child creates a positive value response with that same ideology you hold.
I blew up at Scrappy one night. Screamed and yelled at him and hit him repeatedly. I was shaking I felt so awful about it. I know he's just a dog, but I don't like to hit him. I'm pretty sure he's okay about it now. We both got therapy - called basic dog obedience class - and we're much happier with each other now.
I don't think that has much of anything to do with having a kid, except for the part about how it made me feel. What I know is, I don't want to feel that way again. So, I suppose it's good it happens like that once so we know for sure that we aren't the kind of people who could live our everyday lives like that. Whew! What a relief, eh?
You're not one of "those." And I think you know it. So, as Meg Ryan would say from the movie French Kiss - "Go ahead...feel guilty. Swim in it until your fingers get all pruney." Then dry off and get over it. You'll see, the pruney fingers fade, in time.
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