Mommy Time Out

Have you ever had the moments where you’re about to lose your mind? You’re suddenly in a foul mood and have no idea why? You run through the check list of possible bad mood inducers and you can’t figure it out. PMS? Nope. Pregnant? Can’t be. Tired? Always. Husband being a turd? No more than usual. Kids screaming? No louder than usual. Well then, what is it?

After a while you give up on finding the culprit, just deal with it and irrationally deal with everyone and everything else. Your husband asks you where the coffee filters are, but the savage look in your eyes as they shot daggers his way shut him up pretty quickly. Your 6 month old starts fussing for heaven knows what and you take pity on him as he smiles at you when you scoop him up from the play mat and place him into the next infant entertaining contraption. Your 2 year old, oh your 2 year old. He hasn’t mastered his father’s ability to read your moods or to understand the mood ring changes in the color of your eyes. Hazel eyes, happy. Dark brown…not so good. He doesn’t have the toothless grin that gets his brother out of so much trouble. The poor kid.

“Honey, put your underwear on,” you say as you hold up a The Incredibles pair of underwear. Really, how incredible must they be if they’re getting skid marks from a 2 year old. I suppose more incredible than the underwear getting skid marks from a 30 year old.

“No ‘credibles underwear! This one!” As he holds up his Toy Story pair.

“Fine. Here let’s get those on.” He arches his back, screams, and runs for dear life.

“NO!!!!! No Toy Story underwear!”

“Well, which one do you want?? Spiderman?”

“No.”

“The Hulk?”

“No.”

“Woody??”

“No.”

“Cars???”

“No.”

“Darnit, buddy! I’m going to count to 5 and you better pick out a pair of underwear! One….” He searches through and studies them all. Clearly only certain characters are worthy to be pooped and peed on.

“Two…” He acts like he can’t decide, but I know he’s just stalling. The kid doesn’t want to wear anything and really…I don’t have the patience to deal with this nonsense.

“Three……if you don’t pick I’m just going to put these on you.” I show him the Toy Story pair again.

“NO!”

“Fine. Pick something….now! Four……….”

He runs over and decides that now is the time to play with his trucks. Now. Of all times. I try to breathe slowly and remember “He’s only two, he’s only two.”

“If I get to five you’re getting these!!!!!” As I wave Toy Story underwear like a cheerleader at the championship game.

Silence. The turd’s ignoring me!

“FIVE!” I charge like a linebacker and scoop him up. I lay him on the ground and try to wrestle on the underwear.

“Noooo! No underwear!!!!!”

“We need to go bye-bye. You have to wear underwear!”

***BAM***

He kicks me in the boobs and the stomach in a jab-jab-punch boxing style. I’m winded. I feel the flames coming out of eyes and the smoke out of my ears. I’m about to lose it and I think he sees this. He suddenly is quiet and in him I see the look I used to give my dad when he was angry. But I’m not my dad. I won’t be my dad. So, I do what any rational mother would do. I shout, “FINE! YOU PICK THE UNDERWEAR AND GET THEM ON YOURSELF. MOMMY’S IS DONE HELPING!!!!”

I run to my bedroom. Shut the door. Hard enough that he can hear I’m in there, not as hard as I wanted to slam it. I couldn’t lose it that much with him. I lock the door and I sit on the floor of my bathroom trying to breathe. Fortunately the baby is asleep and I’m not dealing with him, too. I gain my composure and begin to get ready for my day. Then I hear it.

The doorknob wiggles.

There’s a small cry.

There’s a knock.

“Mommy?” I hear him say, “Mommy?”

I melt a bit inside knowing I’m the one that needed to cool down. He was being two after all.

I open the door and standing there is my son, half naked and holding up the pair of Toy Story underwear I had flung down just moments before. I kneel to the floor to look him in the eye.

“Mommy? Help? I sowwy.” As he comes to me he wraps his arms around my neck and I breathe him in.

“I’m sorry too, buddy. You wanna wear this underwear?”

“Yeah. Sit on your lap?”

“Sure. After this we’ll get your clothes on and get ready to go play.”

“Ok, Mommy.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“Yes, please.”

Now I know why time outs are so good. They give us a moment to decompress and breathe. They allow us to be the mothers we always have wanted to be. I may not win Mother of the Year, but I sure as heck will win Most Improved.

Have you ever needed a Mommy Time Out? What are your ways of coping with bad days? Share with us at Mothers’ Hideaway!