Hi Orange Rhinos.

Today’s riddle is brought to you today by Digavise.

Which is longer? A year without yelling? Or a week with young kids and no power?

I’m not sure either! Our Orange Rhino is still without power and unable to post to the blog, though I’m sure the posts post-power-restoration are going to be amazing!

The good news is that she is still able to post to Facebook, so if you head over there, you can help find the humor in this situation and help her count down to the restoration of power.

Written November 6, Day ??? without power

And a funny story for tonight to lighten up the mood of this page.

So obviously 8 days no power is getting to me. Tonight ’round about 4:30ish as the house was starting to darken and I needed to get everything ready for dinner and bedtime while I had lights someone opened the door to the COLD cold outside and left it open. As they ALL ran around in and out screaming and laughing and having a jolly ‘ole good time. Two seconds before I went bezerk they ran in, slammed the door shut and continued calling each other po*py heads and laughin hysterically. I was so annoyed I wanted to scream, like off my charts scream. I opened my mouth, felt the tickle start in my throat and felt the roar travel up my throat. I immediately grabbed the closest thing I could and squeezed…turns out it was a week old rotten banana. SMOOSH! Wet, sticky banana smooshed through my fingers and dripped out onto the counter and floor. What a mess it was! What a mess I am. What a dork I am because immediately after the harsh realization that I am inching towards losing it (despite all my positive feelings), all I could think of was vanilla ice cream and the necessary makings for Bananas Foster dessert 🙂

Written on Facebook November 5th, day ??? without power

What’s on my mind facebook asks? Well first I am thrilled I figured out how to post as The Orange Rhino from my phone. Yeah! And second, well, here is my second.

Tonight I went outside flashlight in hand desperately searching for #3’s winter hat. You all know him to be a tad OCD about his belongings and well, since we made him wear a hat one night to stay warm he hasn’t let it leave his head. Until today. It was bedtime and it couldn’t be found anywhere. I feared a meltdown more than anything so I trekked outside looking for said hat.

Written on Facebook November 4, Day 7 without power…

Hello again! I’m on night 7 of no power and I appreciate you all staying with me and sharing such supportive comments the other night. While what I am going to write right now is theoretically about my current situation it actually applies to this challenge too, and any difficult situation in life. As grateful as I am feeling, I have finally hit the wall. I spent lots of moments today feeling angry and frustrated and annoyed at the situation.

Both my husband and I are fed up and tired and I am pretty sure we are going to lose it with each other and the kids soon if we don’t see at least 1 truck working SOON. As in, like first thing tomorrow morning. But in the middle of all my silent b****ing and moaning this morning, in the middle of a moment when I really wanted to scream at my kids just because I am that on edge, I remembered something I learned at the beginning of this challenge. I have a choice. I can spend all day pissed off and yelling and feeling really miserable as I wallow in self pity OR I can choose to feel only partially miserable.

For so many years of my life I opted for the really miserable. That seemed easier and more comforting at the time. Looking back I am not sure why I ever thought that! But today, and the last 267ish days I’ve CHOSEN the better choice for me, the less miserable choice. It’s hard to make – but it does feel better. How do I make that choice? I find whatever I can to feel positive about (like unexpected family time together). Hokey I know. Again, its taken YEARS to train myself to think this way (and to admit that my mom, who has been drilling this in my head for years, was right). But it works. So that’s what I have for you tonight. Not feeling cranky is a choice. I chose it today. Not yelling is a choice. I also chose that path today, like a thousand times I think! Under the circumstances, both choices were hard as h*ll but equally rewarding as h*ll. And tomorrow morning when I wake up cold and cranky and pissed the kids again missed the memo about daylight savings (argh!) I’ll re-read this. Until then, a nice glass of wine and a fire await. Sleep well!

Written on Facebook November 2nd, day 5 without power

Hello friends and shall I say family? Because in many ways you all feel like family as I have told you and trusted you with many of my deepest emotions! I tried to write today “formally” but am honestly too overwhelmed with emotion to get what’s in my mind and my heart out. So alas, as I sit here in the dark listening to the crackle of the fire and the buzzing of the generator that we were able to rent and run a few hours a night so we can keep the house at 55, I thought I would write to you all “casually.” Hi. We are holding up. I find myself wanting to cry a few times a day though, I’m not going to lie. You all know me to be emotional and this devastation certainly has brought that part of me alive. I keep asking myself why do I keep fighting back tears? Why? Is it because the house is cold, the food blah, the kids stir crazy, my routine gone? NO. I want to cry because I am so grateful. Because I am so lucky. I see trees on houses all around me. I hear sirens every 20 minutes. I see moms with week old babies waiting in line for coffee, food. I get stopped by an elderly man to get directions to the hospital because his wife, in the front seat isn’t feeling well, clearly from the cold, the stress. I, we, my family are lucky. And for that I feel so grateful, yet so guilty. Because while it is bad here and no sign of a power truck in sight, I know it is worse elsewhere. And that just breaks my heart. Do I write this to make you all feel guilty? NO. Please don’t!!! I write because it helps me process the craziness that is around me. I write because it is what I normally do and right now, I crave just a little bit of normal more than anything…(P.S. Thanks for reading and letting me emote.)

247 days without yelling, 118 days of loving more to go!

Dear Self,

Sometimes, you just have to go with it. Laugh and remember that you too once were a little sh*t ESPECIALLY at times when your mom was losing it and yet she still loved you. In fact, you continue to be a little sh*t and your mom still loves you. So give your son a break.

Sincerely,
The Orange Rhino

*

It was 7:57 sometimes last week, exactly 23 minutes before I had to head out of the house with my darling, beloved Kindergartner  It had been a peaceful morning thus far. No tears. No punches. No “mommy he did this!!!”  No complaints about breakfast. All was going well. And it looked like I would actually leave for school on time that morning.

And then it happened. The “don’t-get-all-cocky-parenting-Gods” heard my thought and cast a spell on my house.

“MOMMMY! MOMMMY! MOMMMY!” #3 screamed hysterically while sobbing.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Gone. GONE! GONE!”

“What honey? I can’t understand you, I’m sorry.” (#3’s speech is improving but when he is hysterical, forget about it).

“Gggggone. It. ggggone. Mkr.”

I surveyed his surroundings to figure out what the heck he was talking about. I had NO bloomin’ clue. Every word I suggested he screamed NO, NO, NOOOO! His screams became even more intolerable to the point where my ears were ringing and #1 had to get earmuffs. There was no deciphering his screams, there was no stopping his screams, there was no relief. Just an absolute desire to scream back even louder.

I cautiously went over to him, hoping he wouldn’t throw his breakfast at me in frustration (yes, that HAS happened). I tried to pick him up to hug him and calm him. He just kicked and hit as hard as possible until I had no choice but to put him down and watch him flail and sob uncontrollably. #3 has made much progress. Much much much progress. But when he loses an item he is attached to he goes apoplectic. Absolutely apoplectic and it sucks.

Then he stopped.

Silence fell upon him.

“MARKER! MARKER! Found!”

There under the kitchen cabinet was his brand new white marker. Phew I thought, we can get back to our nice quiet, gift of a morning. The “don’t-get-all-cocky-parenting-Gods” heard my thought and decided to rattle my morning, again.

“MOMMMMMMMY!”

Sh*t. It started again.

“Gggggone!”

This time I knew the problem. He didn’t have just 1 new marker. He had two. Operative word being HAD two. At this moment he only had one.

I dropped to my hands and knees and frantically looked under the changing table, under the kitchen carpet, under the other cabinets. I went to the bathroom where he had been moments before and looked in the toilet, behind the toilet, in the sink. It had to be somewhere. It just had to be. Markers don’t just get up and walk away you know. No luck. I came back to the kitchen and crawled under the kitchen table and searched under the chairs, in the heating vent.

Shrill screaming continuing in my ears and I had had it. I went to stand up and scream back, forgetting I was under the table.

BAM! I slammed my head on the table. Crap. This morning had turned to CRAP!

“#3, get over it. It’s just a marker.” I snapped as I rubbed my throbbing head.

I looked closely at #3, tears now rolling down his puffy cheeks and starting to form in my own. Oh how I hate it when my son is like this; I hate the frustration he feels. I hate the frustration I feel. I hate not being able to help him, to soothe him. I was tired of looking for the darn marker but I wanted to help my son, I wanted to save him from an even worse meltdown. So where’s a mom to look?

The trash can, obviously.

Markers don’t walk away BUT 14 month olds walk away with things and put them in the trash. Sleeves up, I dug. And dug. Through taco meat, black beans, yogurt, wet paper towels and more. Yuck.  Are you kidding me? All this for a marker? No. All this for love.

Just then #1 sauntered over.

“What ya doing mom?” he sweetly asked, darn well knowing what I was doing.

“Looking for #3’s marker.”

Then I looked at my eldest son closer. I noticed a twinkle in his eye. Make that both eyes. And I noticed fidgeting hands in his pocket. He need not say a word. I knew what the answer to my next question was going to be.

“#1, do you have #3’s marker?”

“Oh this??!!!”

And voila! He presented the damn white marker I had just banged my head over, washed my hands in trash over, almost lost my cool over.

“Are you f*****g kidding me?”I thought to myself.

“Have you had this marker all along?”

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

“Are you f*****g kidding me?” I thought to myself again.

And then I giggled, giggled, giggled too.

Because at that moment I was just so relieved to have found the pen that I could have cared less that I now smelled like a trash can and my eldest had just played a joke on me.

Because at that moment I knew I would make my third son smile again, that I would fill his little heart with joy and that was way more important to me than being annoyed with my other son.

Because at that moment love trumped anger.

246 days of not yelling, 119 days of loving more to go!

Dear I am Totally That Mom,

I am Totally That Mom inspired by you! Thank you for the guest post below; for writing so honestly and eloquently what I feel but couldn’t express. Last weekish when you wrote on your blog about your desire to become a non-yelling mom, about your decision to change, just like that, you showed a “go get ‘em attitude” that completely inspired me.

After reading tonight’s post, I felt equally inspired, more so actually. So thank you. I might be on Day 246ish of not yelling but I still need inspiration to keep me going day in and day out, I still need help staying focused, I still need help being the change I want to see in the world (one of my favorite sayings by the way). When I am feeling lost, I will turn to this post.

Thank you,

The Orange Rhino

*

Recently, I wrote this, about my desire to stop yelling (http://www.iamtotallythatmom.blogspot.com/2012/10/so-i-changed-just-like-that.html).

I felt strong. I felt capable. I was making a decision. It was hard, but I could do it.

Today, I feel like crap. The last few days have been hard. While I am not yelling like I once was, I have yelled. I have yelled unapologetically. I have started my way back down the slippery playground slide into my old ways. Old ways (okay they are not that old) that do not help me and that do not help my kids.

In those moments, when the kids’ volume is set on super-high-let’s-damage-mom’s-hearing and the dishes, clutter, and laundry are threatening to EAT me, my body goes into survival mode. Make. it. stop. MAKE IT STOP. Make it all stop. I can’t think of anything else besides a fierce, intense, primal need to make the world go black. I need quiet, darkness, and calm. I need a sensory deprivation chamber. And yet it’s not there, and I can’t run to find it. Fight or flight. Flight’s not an option and so I fight.

Sigh.

I have big dreams. I have high expectations. Some would say I put too much pressure on myself; I do too much. They say give yourself a break, no parents are perfect. They say what you want isn’t realistic, life is messy. They say the kids will get older and it will get easier, just hang on.

All of those things are true in some way or another. But I don’t want to be perfect, and I don’t want to hide until my kids are older. Life is messy. To be honest, I love life’s messiness. It’s in some of life’s messy moments that I have laughed the hardest and smiled the biggest. In others, I have cried the hardest. I can’t feel or experience any of life’s messiness, in all its beauty and intensity, when I am in fight or flight mode. When I am in fight or flight mode, I can’t breathe. Life isn’t messy then, it’s mean.

And so today, I re-focus. I re-read the words I wrote two weeks ago. I breathe. I do handstands. (I know this isn’t for everyone, but I swear it is the single most effective thing in helping my body believe it’s not being attacked by saber tooth tigers, small boys, or dishes). I sit with my coffee, and I write. I breathe in the fresh fall air (that’s a tad too brisk to be sitting on the porch) and I marvel at the beauty in my backyard. I notice the bottle of glue sitting on the table next the kids ever growing pile of drying crafts. I notice a few marshmallow roasting forks and some empty cups outside on the patio by the fire pit leftover from an evening with friends. And I hear the boys inside getting louder as they are immersed in imaginative play that might involve tying each other up or practicing their long jump from the arm of couch over whatever other furniture may be in the way. It’s messy, but it’s beautiful.

I think about what I want for my family. I want them to know unconditional love. I want them to know that their home is a safe place when the world is scary. I want them to know the value in peaceful communication. I want them to know that we don’t use our bodies or our words for hurting. I want them to know and understand true respect for other beings – not just the version that means shutting up and listening to big people. That won’t serve them in life, but them knowing the inherent value in every living being will serve them and the world. I want them to thrive in life’s messiness – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the awesome.

So I need to be the change I want to see in the world, my world, and the big big world. Yes it’s hard, but it’s also real. These last few days are a just a part of the journey. It’s messy and beautiful. This week my goal is to live it all, feel it all (even if that’s sometimes from behind the locked bathroom door, it’s better than losing it), and not let myself slip into fight or flight where not only does the yelling start but all the beautiful mess fades into the background.

Next week on my blog, I’ll look at what’s working and what’s not, but for now I needed to remind myself why I was doing this.

For more of “I am Totally That Mom’s” posts, go to http://www.iamtotallythatmom.blogspot.com

Would you like to write a guest post? Please email me at theorangerhinochallenge@gmail.com I would love to have one featured writer a week. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real and a pleasure for you to write! 

243 days without yelling, 122 days of loving more to go!

Dear M.C. Hammer,

I completely, 110% blame you for my raging headache last week. Was it really necessary to write a catchy song with the lyrics “Stop, it’s Hammer Time”? Couldn’t it have been more like “Stop, it’s quiet time?” I know you won’t be writing any more music in the future but if you do, please consult me first.

Cheers,
The Orange Rhino

*

It was a peaceful and perfect afternoon in the Orange Rhino household. The boys were outside in the brisk fall air, frolicking around joyously trying to catch the falling leaves. As they ran they laughed and smiled at each other as if to say, oh how I love thee brother, let me count the ways. AS IF!

It was a typical afternoon in the Orange Rhino household. The three oldest boys were worn out from the days classes and activities and were bouncing off the walls each other. It was pouring rain and cold out so no chance of them running off their energy vis a vis splashing in the puddles. Nope. They were (I was?!) stranded inside with a screaming 15 month old whose teeth just seem to show no mercy.

Full of energy and exhaustion all at once, and lacking patience at the same time, not one of the three eldest had any intention of behaving that afternoon. Instead they opted to do their usual stunts: hit each other, pull shirts, throw toys at each other, whine for another snack, whine about each other, whine that daddy wasn’t home. It was pouring outside and pouring chaos inside.

Did I mention I had a headache from being up the night before playing the ever popular “how many beds can I fall asleep in” as I chased nightmares away?

It wasn’t a glorious day outside and I certainly didn’t feel glorious inside.

And then it started. The second wind that is.

All of a sudden my three eldest were running around the house screaming at the top of their lungs. Or shall I say screeching? They were tired of beating up each other and complaining and decided to move ahead to pure hyperactive play.

Oh. My. God.

The yelling. The movement. The insanity.

If I heard one more shrill voice wiz past me as I now tried to cook dinner I was going to either scream or throw the pot of pasta viciously at the sink. It was THAT bad. And my attempts (albeit truly weak attempts) to halt the behavior were completely ignored.

“STOP!” I snapped.

Oh crap, I’m gonna blow. Think quick, Orange Rhino, think quick!

“STOP!  It’s hammer time!” I bellowed out in a trying to be funny and cool and I don’t know what voice.

My boys froze.

“What?” my boys asked. Obviously (duh…) they didn’t get the reference that stumbled off of my tongue as if it were 1980’s and were totally confused.

“STOP! It’s hammer time!”  I said with a huge smile on my face.

Yeah, I got this in the bag, I smugly thought to myself. We’ll start a dance party. All will be well in the world. I could never stand MC Hammer or his crazy pants, but at this moment, I was totally gratefully for his annoying song. It was an awesome recovery. I practically patted myself on the back.

And then I realized I had 4 boys. Not 4 girls.

“What? Hammer time?” #2 asked.

“Yeah, hamma time!” Said #3.

“GO GET YOUR HAMMERS BOYS!” shouted #1.

And no joke, they all ran, got their hammers and resumed running around. But this time, with hammers in hand and hammering anything in site. I thought it was loud before? That was nothing.

What the perfect visual. Imagine the balloon was my head. See all the splashing out? That’s my sanity. Photo courtesy ehow

Did I not yell?
Did I end up laughing?

Yes. Bonus.

But did my head feel like the balloon to the left?

Heck yeah.

So as I alluded to in the title of this post, parents, do NOT try this at home. Try any other form of not yelling, perhaps one of these 50 alternatives, just please don’t burst out singing “STOP! It’s Hammer Time.”

Perhaps instead, may I suggest,  “2 LEGIT, 2 LEGIT 2 QUIT!”

Want to take a flashback to the 1990’s? Here’s the video clip for you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0_ICNMbdzw

Here’s another post with a tribute to a song I grew up with.  This post is from the early early days of this challenge. Day 1, TAKE 7 to be exact.
https://theorangerhino.com/things-that-make-me-go-ahhhh/

233 days of not yelling, 132 days of loving more to go!

Dear Internet World, again,

My name is The Orange Rhino and I don’t yell at my kids (anymore). I stopped yelling at them 233 ish days ago and I have no intentions of turning back.

Every night (more or less) before I started The Orange Rhino Challenge my husband would come home and ask me how the day went. Was it good? Was it bad? Or it was it outright ugly? I just about never really wanted to engage in the conversation to be honest. Mostly because I knew the conversation would sadly go like this:

“The day was mostly good. #1 did this #2 did that #3 did this and #4 did that. But I yelled. I yelled more than I wanted today.” I would then annoyingly go on and on about my maternal guilt and personal disappointment and dwell on the bad part of the day instead of the good.

My husband would listen intently, and lovingly tell me, “It’s okay. Tomorrow is another day. You’ll do better. The boys know you love them. Hang in there.”

And then as he headed to change out of his work clothes I would stop, think and debate whether or not to tell him, to ADMIT to him, about the one really bad screaming fit I had that day; the one that mortified me. The one that I was so ashamed of that I didn’t even have the guts to tell my husband. My loss of self control, my being a mom I never wanted to be, and certainly not the mom my husband would want me to be. Because well sometimes it is too embarrassing (and scary?!) to admit to certain behaviors.  

But for the last 233 days I haven’t had to have that mental debate with myself. I haven’t even spent the night trying to avoid the “how was the day” question. I actually initiate the chat.

Instead of sitting at the kitchen counter looking pouty and beat up from the day as I recount to my husband the day’s DOWNS and some ups, I am often the one jumping in with, gasp, a little smile and pep in my voice, as I share the day’s UPS and few downs.

I no longer spend the entire night’s check-in focusing on me and my guilt, focusing on what the kids did wrong instead of “right.” Instead I now NATURALLY focus on the funny things the kids did, the sweet things, the seriously-are-you-kidding-me things. Sure, I share some frustrating things too, but even those I share with a different tone. The tone of anger is gone and has been replaced with concern or simple frustration. What a NICE CHANGE. What a nice, nice change. I honestly attribute this change to learning not to yell. Either that or there is something in the water I’ve been drinking!

No seriously, I know it sounds cheesy, and perhaps I am looking through rose colored glasses, but I really think this change in how I reflect upon my day is a result of not yelling.

In not yelling, I have less* to complain about in regards to my parenting.

In not yelling, I feel less* mama guilt which makes me feel lighter and happier which surprisingly, to me at least, makes me see, seek, and share joyful moments more than before.

In not yelling, I have learned that to keep my desire to yell at bay I need to let go more* often of the negative feelings towards my boys’ negative behavior which again surprisingly, at least to me, makes me feel lighter and happier and again makes me see, seek, and share joyful moments more than before.

In not yelling, life is less negative and more positive. Across the board.

My night time chats with my husband used to be a real downer and therefore a real waste of quality time with him. Now we actually connect over my daily download. We share laughs. We share “shakes of the heads” in agreement that wow, our life is a circus, a fun loving one, but still an outright circus. And we share moments of concern about our kids but even those are more positive moments. Because I am not pouty and focusing on me and my faults I am actually present and more open to the discussion about how we need to help our kids.

Our conversations used to always make me feel crappy afterwards.

Kind of like yelling.

Not yelling makes me feel more connected to my kids.

And I guess it makes me feel more connected to my husband too.

I used to go to bed, full of hope for a better day tomorrow and still full of guilt for how that day went down and full of fear that I’ll lose it again tomorrow. I used to go to bed mentally preoccupied and frustrated and disconnected to my husband because I wasted the night being moody.

Now more often than not I go to bed after laughing about some other memory from the day.

Yeah, I would say learning not to yell has been good for me. And my marriage.

My name is The Orange Rhino, and I will go 365 days straight without yelling at my kids because I am doing better, I still want to keep doing better, and because my kids AND my husband deserve better.

*Emphasis on less and more. I am not perfect. I still have my moments, rest assured. Like my boys, I am a work in progress! 

226 days without yelling, 139 days of loving more to go!

Dear Nerves,

Whenever you find me, you take over my entire being and make me an absolute b*tch! You are one of my worst triggers for yelling. Could you do me a favor? Could you either stop invading my body or send me a manual on how to handle you? I would be most appreciative. So would my boys. I am much more pleasant when I am not nervous!

Warmest Regards,
The Orange Rhino

*
There are several “yells at my kids” that I cannot shake from my memory, like this one. I think it is so “memorable” because it is exactly what I didn’t want to achieve that day. 

I was 36 weeks and 6 days pregnant with number four. It was potentially my last night as a mom of three kids and I wanted it to be special and perfect because I knew once #4 came, I would be even more exhausted, more cranky, more busy than I had been the last 8.5 months. I wanted to have one last hurrah with my three boys. I wanted to take them out for a fun dinner where they got all my undivided attention. I wanted to laugh and joke with them. I wanted to have fun with them. I wanted to snuggle them into bed feeling secure that when #4 comes, they will still be as important as ever even if they didn’t feel like it because lots of my energy was going into caring for their new baby brother. Oh how I wanted to shower them with hugs, and kisses, and lots of love that night.

But I didn’t. Instead I showered them with impatience, intolerance and lots of yelling.

All because I was anxious.

and scared.
and tired.
and frustrated.
and disappointed.
and grumpy.
and short tempered.

I was all sorts of not positive emotions.
In fact, I was EVERY EMOTION but what I wanted to be that night.

All because the next morning I was headed to the hospital to try and flip #4 out of breech position. I had three natural deliveries and was terrified of a C-section if he didn’t flip, terrified of recovering from a C-section with three older boys at home, terrified of the potential of an emergency delivery at 37 weeks as a result of the procedure, terrified of feeling disappointed if my last delivery was a C-section and not the delivery I wished for, terrified of having a baby NOW when I wasn’t mentally ready, when the house was still under construction and so not ready to welcome a baby.

I wanted SO BADLY for the procedure to go well. I wanted SO BADLY to have special time with my boys just in case I did deliver tomorrow. So much so that I was an absolute mess b*tch!

And it came out in the form of yelling.

“KNOCK IT OFF #1!”

“DAMMIT, #2 WHY CAN’T YOU LISTEN?!”

“BE QUIET #3! USE YOUR WORDS!!!”

Oh, I yelled most of the day. It was AWFUL. Absolutely awful. And then came dinner. We couldn’t go out to Friendly’s as planned which just added more disappointment to my list, further fueling my mood. So we brought it home.

I opened the styrofoam containers which had trapped in the steam from the once hot food.

The boys started eating.

“My food is soggy.”

“Icky.”

“I didn’t want macaroni and cheese.”

It was my turn to complain. But I did more than complain. I SCREAMED at the top of my lungs so much so that my hands shook and my face turned bright red.

“GOD DAMMIT KIDS! All I wanted was a nice peaceful and special meal before tomorrow and you’re ruining it! Absolutely ruining it! ”

They stopped complaining and all simultaneously burst into tears, my then 5 year old telling me that I was the meanest, worstest mommy ever.

My heart sank. I was mortified and ashamed and OH SO INCREDIBLY SAD.

They weren’t the ones ruining dinner, I was.

The pressures of my current situation had absolutely gotten to me and I had taken it too far on a day when all I wanted were loving moments, when all my boys NEEDED were loving moments. I felt so disappointed in myself. So disappointed in the lost moments that day. So disappointed that they might wake up tomorrow and be with the babysitter and without me for three days and their most recent memory would be of mommy screaming at them like a lunatic.

Oh the guilt at that moment at me alive.

“Oh boys, I am SO SORRY. Mommy is just so stressed and I lost it. I am so very sorry. I love you so much.”

We eventually cleaned up from dinner and made it up to bedtime. As bad as losing it was, it did whip me into the emotional place I wanted to be pretty quickly. Patience found me, helping me to have the bedtime I wanted: a slow, peaceful, loving half an hour. We chatted longer during bath time, we cuddled longer over story time, we snuggled longer during tuck-ins to bed. I let everything go a little longer that night. I cherished everything a little bit more. And it was wonderful.

I didn’t get the day I wanted, but I did get the bedtime I wanted, that I so desperately needed. I had found the strength to FINALLY get a hold of my behavior; I had found the strength to FINALLY rise above the pressure. And I was proud of myself.

I think #4 was too. En route to the hospital the next morning he did one really big (and painful!) fist pump in the air and flipped into position. Not only did I get to have the natural delivery I wanted, but I also got to go home to my boys and try again for a fun-filled, loving day before #4 arrived. And I got it. Times 13.