I was going to write about my dad tonight.
I had it all planned. I was going to write about how emotion is in the genes; we’re born with our tendencies to cry, laugh or brood. It’s written in our DNA.
I was going to use my father as a perfect example of the genetics of emotion. I was going to say that he’s emotional to the point of hilarity. The words were going to flow onto the blank page, describing how his tears will fall freely at something tiny – a birthday card, a story on the news, a kiss from his granddaughter.
I was going to share this picture of my wedding day almost a year ago, pointing you to look at my dad’s face as he revels in the emotion of the day…
I was going to tell you that I’m just like him. And then I was going to write something beautiful and meaningful and slightly funny, about my toddler and her own father, making comparisons between us, before coming back to my own dad at the end of the post.
That’s what I was going to do.
But then this afternoon happened.
A tantrum at supper time is always going to end in tears. An exhausted two year old – who’s been up in the night vomiting and crying – is not a recipe for a contented evening meal. I get that.
But I wasn’t prepared for what we experienced this evening. It was a tantrum off the richter scale of tantrums. It was tears and shouts and a little ball of frustrated anger and screaming – the likes of which I’ve never witnessed before.
As I attempt to ignore the impending tidal wave of emotion about to crash across the table, I can feel my heart rate beginning to speed up. I start to sweat, as I become keenly aware that the piercing angry screams and shouts of “NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY” are going to explode into something much worse.
Instinct tells me to keep calm and try and distract my husband from our raging toddler, all the while continuing some form of quiet talking. Instinct tells me not to lose my cool.
But the cool is quickly evaporating. Frog’s dad snaps. Swiftly lifting her from her highchair he shouts, “BE QUIET NOW!” before saying he has to leave the room.
As my toddler weeps in the corner and the food goes cold on our plates my shoulders slump. I know this is just the beginning.
And so it is. The crying and tears and angry shouts continue right through bathtime. Frog hits her dad, screaming, “HIT DADDY HIT DADDY HIT DADDY” before he once more has to leave the room in anger.
As I try to get our two year old dressed and calm her with her “magic blanket” I’m met with a flurry of bites, kicks, hitting, screams and “STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT”.
It’s now two hours since the emotional tidal wave first surfaced. I’m yet to shout. But every feeling inside of me is desperate to get out and find release, ease the pressure inside the kettle about to start whistling on my metaphorical hob.
I’m angry, exhausted, upset, stressed, confused and… and… rapidly searching my stockpile of tried and tested tantrum techniques for the best way to deal with this, before a full blown argument breaks out between my husband and I.
Too late.
The final blow comes when I lean to kiss Frog goodnight, placing her in her bed as she thrashes and kicks, utterly exhausted but still consumed with that unreasonable toddler rage that appears to physically hurt her. As she enters a more calm state I take my chances and lean down to brush her hair from her face and tell her I love her.
And she scratches me. Not just a little scratch but a big, tearing, nail-out-in-a-talon-like scratch. She draws blood and I gasp. Never before has she properly hurt me, physically, like this. My own tears are now flowing freely.
The NLM tells me to leave the room, he sternly tells her she’s ruined her chances of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star tonight. And then he closes her door and warns me not to go in her room, saying it will only prolong the tantrum and she won’t learn that her actions have consequences.
But I can’t. I can’t leave her sobbing like that. I can’t let her fall to sleep with the last words between us cross ones. I can’t get up at 3.30am and drive to work before she’s even woken, knowing that I won’t see her until tomorrow afternoon, with no goodnight kiss. I can’t do that.
So, inevitably, there are cross words between my husband and I, as we both disagree on the right course of action. In the end, I do go into Frog’s room. I kiss her and she cries when I leave, but is quiet within seconds of me closing the door.
And I sit and meditate on the last two hours, wondering how we could have dealt with that tantrum differently. Wondering what to do next time.
Wondering if my dad ever felt like this when I was tiny.
It goes full circle. Emotions are in the genes.
***
This post was written for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is Emotion. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.
Just seeing that photo of your dad made me well up without reading any of the post. He looks so proud.
I’m so sorry you had such an awful time with Frog. Tantrums are the worst. It sounds like you and your husband are similar to me and my husband. I can’t just leave Charles in his room. I have to go back and kiss him and say I love you, even if he is asleep.
I hope this was a one off for you xx
So do I! Thank you for the lovely comment – it’s good to know others react in a similar way. Being a mum is a bloody tough job at times isn’t it?!
Hundred percent relate to this and tantrums are so tough. I’ve been reading books on handling toddler tantrums etc but when they are in full swing (an dmy own hormones are raging) it’s often hard to keep calm. My health visitor advised letting them scream it out-as long as they are in a safe place you can leave them to get on with it. It has helped with O. He even tells us now halfway through he’s not finished his tantrum. Let’s hope things get easier x
Oh my, this is certainly full of emotion and one that any mother could relate to…..we have had nights like these recently and in fact they were from our 10 year old – I’m sorry to say that things don’t get easier
I absolutely love that adorable photo of your dad.
Thank you – that photograph has a special place in my heart too. And *eek* to the news that tantrums don’t get easier! Help!
Phone your Dad and ask him to come round pretty damn quickly but I guess that’s probably not practical.
Dear Molly, some days it’s wonderful and some days it’s crap. There are no perfect answers. I guess given the night she had it was probably pretty inevitable things might go pear shaped. Reel back through the day, could she have had a longer nap, more time zoned out in front of the TV? Sometimes the bigger picture helps rather than focussing on the event. Then you can prepare for the next time.
I am crap at keeping my cool. I don’t think you can ever agree with your partner on how to do it all the time. My son deliberately tries to push buttons he wants to punish me when he’s upset – I guess if you are fairly powerless what else can you do.
As I said in my own post sometimes you just have to get off at Piccadilly circus and avoid the Northern line altogether (only makes sense if you’ve read my post) but basically try and step back before it all goes wrong. Take some time out, take it in terms for some time out. Big glass of wine and a hug to you X
Thank you for such a measured, honest and wonderful comment lovely Gemma. I’m taking everything you said with a big smile, because it’s brilliant to know others go through this stuff too. Whoever said being a parent was all candy floss pictures and happy walks hand-in-hand was a bloody liar, right?!
Oh Molly I have been there so many times – just about keeping my rage under control because I want to shield them from their much-less-patient father. And at times I have flipped out too. But I think you did everything right – sometimes you just have to get through it and that’s that. And I love your picture – just gorgeous. x
It actually feels like a marathon at times. It’s just a case of getting through it and reaching the finish line (bedtime), which is a horrible way to look at spending time with my daughter – but when she’s mid tantrum and properly going for it, it’s the only way I can grit my teeth and stay calm.
I wish I knew the best way to respond to tantrums. My wee man has started to get really good at them. My response and my hubby’s are totally different. I try to stay calm and reason and he is quite firm. The wee man is still so young I always say to myself. It definitely is an emotional time.
A beautiful photo!
It sounds like you have the keeping calm bit down well though – I managed it last night but I haven’t always been able to hold back the sharp words or shouts. It’s really not easy – especially when you’re tired and they start getting physical, hitting etc.
This is such a wonderful emotional post. I’m currently dealing with my own two year old terror and wish I could be a bit more like you when it comes to tantrums. I worry I’m too quick to get angry, I’m not able to control my own emotions which I know is down to sleep deprivation at the moment. After reading this I have resolved to be calmer and more patient.
Sleep deprivation is the absolute worst. And I find that often when F is at her most gruesome, it’ s because BOTH of us are tired. It’s utterly hard work keeping your cool in that situation.
First off…great Photo! and second…aren’t you glad you can blog about it? Parenting is not easy but it helps to share and know others have gone through the terrible twos?
This is one of the great aspects of blogging – it’s a cathartic exercise. And yes, I’m so pleased I can do it. Thank you for the comment.
I feel for you. Does not help to say that there will be more of those tantrums but they will mellow out over the time.
The tantrums are horrible and I always wonder if the neighbours are about to dial Social Services
For bad tantrums I have always used the take them to a room and close the door with them and myself in the room. I tell them I will not talk to them until they calm down and mum is not allowed in the room. Sometimes of course it does not work but usually it does, they can’t cry for ever, those some days feels like they can.
Oh I know that feeling well – when they’re in the midst of a tantrum it feels like it’ll never end!
I hope that the calmness that follows a tantrum has gone some way to repair the sadness. If it is any consolation I think you did exactly the right thing, keep calm, don’t get angry, but don’t let them have their way. At two they cannot reason and don’t understand consequences. They just know that they are pissed off!
And the love that is in your dad’s eyes is amazing. he probably has had times like you have described and you both survived
That’s the worst part of a toddler tantrum I think – the not being able to reason at all. So frustrating, for them and us!
That photo is just stunning Molly. That look in his face has been perfectly captured and preserved.
x
I’m concentrating on that because the rest of your post really touched me and I have no words of wisdom or advice, despite having a tantruming (now six year old) myself. It doesn’t get easier, just different.
And do you know what? If you dad did go through that, look at his face now; full of love and pride. Hang on to that
Thank you for the lovely comment Tara – that photograph is a personal favourite of mine. Made even more special because my wonderful friend took it (she photographed our wedding day). And you’re right about my dad going through it too – I know that I used to throw the most horrendous tantrums as a toddler, so I have no doubt where F gets it from!
Wow – now there is an emotional post. ((hugs))
The photo is amazing. Such love in your dad’s eyes. He looks so proud of you.
Toddler tantrums are horrid. When all else failed with my son I used to hold him as tight as I possibly could until he (eventually) calmed down. I haven’t shouted at him or raised my voice and I am so proud. I think that is the absolute hardest thing to do.
You’re right, it’s so hard to keep calm when they’re coming at you like a whirlwind of rage! Thank you for the photo compliment – my friend Caroline Gue (at CP Photography) took it on my wedding day. Very talented lady.
I’ve no sound advice on tantrums – I tend to take your husband’s approach because I’m intolerant and steely-hearted – but I do so love that picture of your father. Wish I could add him to my family.
He is lovely – and very teary!