So it has been a while since "Bad Mommy Voice" has visited. You know, that gutteral mean voice that comes from the bottom of your abdomen and works it way up loudly, angrily. It happens to me, though I don't like to admit it. I try to keep "the voice" at bay, but occasionally it rears its ugly head.
Like today in the car, after hearing whining and screaming, tattling and arguing from the minute we left the house to head to dinner. I know the boys were tired, or rather exhausted, after their first week of school, learning new people and routines. I know I was tired of the same thing, but on the other side of the desk. But the arguments of which Phineas and Ferb song to listen to followed by incoherent high pitched squeals, which turned out to be a version of "I dropped my cheese" lead me to pull over the car, throw it into park and let one good/bad mommy voice out. I had had it.
The boys usually look at me, and then cry. Today, just Mudge did. Boog just watched and tried to explain what Mudge was screaming about. Eventually we all deescalated and went on our (dare I say merry) way.
But as usual, I felt guilty afterwords. Because it isn't their fault. It is mine. Letting my lack of patience get the better of me. I suppose I should practice my "whoo sah" and rub my ears like Martin Lawrence from Bad Boys II. But there are times even the pressure points just don't cut it. I think back to TV moms like June Cleaver and Carol Brady. Did they ever scream at their kids? Can't you just picture it:
"Marsha, Marsha, Marsha...." says Jan.
"Jan, grow the F up and deal with it!" screams Carol.
OK. I do not throw the F bomb out at my kids (though sometimes I think it) but you get the idea. So I am wrangling back the "bad mommy voice" into her deep dark cage, until she comes again. In the mean time, I will control her with chocolate and Sangria.