It’s 4:00pm. Ok, sometimes it’s only 10:00am. And I am done. D.O.N.E. I hear myself giving my daughter a time-out and it hits me. Maybe I need a time out! I tuck myself into my pantry and sit down. The kids think it’s funny. I think it’s Heaven. Ok, it’s a little funny. And to think that I thought that my huge pantry was awesome for snacks, cereals and appliances we never use … little did I know about this use! I’ve got water and an endless supply of food …
It’s fair to give myself a break. It’s a much needed moment to myself – even if the kids are banging on the door. And it’s also a chance to calm down and get back into a mindset that’s better for the kids. When frustration takes over it’s a crappy day for all of us.
Here are my 7 signs that mommy needs a timeout …
I’ve repeated myself 100 times.
Times 100. It’s the point where the sound of my own voice starts to bother me. My tongue feels like it’s got a brick on it making speech unbearable. The kids are either completely ignoring me or they are buying time by asking “what?” over and over. Either way, I can’t do it anymore. I’m out of words.
My patience is equal to or less than my two year old’s.
My Grande coffee from Starbucks bought me a few minutes. Also too similar to my two year old, distraction doesn’t last long. I’m getting upset over everything. I know too well that I can’t micromanage my kids. They have to learn to handle their disagreements on their own. My voice is getting loud and I’m getting annoyed with myself.
My bad attitude is spreading.
Just like any mood, it’s contagious. Apparently misery loves company, but that is where the feeling of love ends. The kids are grumpy and so am I. It sucks. And there’s no hope for improvement at this point.
I respond to everything the kids say with “whatever.”
Who is this mom? I’m acting like a kid. I hate how it sounds. The kids are saddened or energized to continue their unwanted behavior. Either way, this is no good.
It’s dinnertime.
And the only thing we have is goldfish and partially browning apple. If I call it a snack maybe they will eat it.
It’s almost bath time and my husband says he will be home from work late.
Ugh. I can forget about going to the blissful “man-to-man” defense. It’s “zone defense” through the bedtime routines. My attempt to soothe with a glass of wine is solid, but a no go when the wine is opened but never poured.
I stop making sense.
I heard myself tell my son that if he doesn't behave that we're not going to swim lessons. But of course we are. Those are expensive! Once I told my daughter that I was going to go to Tahiti and she was staying home. First of all Tahiti? Never been there. And I certainly don’t have that in the budget. And of course there is the most obvious issue where my daughter is at home alone while I’m off on my fictional trip. I’ve definitely stopped making sense. Frustration at its best.
Move over blender. Make room for mama. I’m coming in for a time out. A moment of peace where I can be alone. Never mind that the kids are sliding things under door. I’ll take my minute to breathe and maybe even grab some goldfish. Sure it isn’t quite Tahiti, but it’s pretty great. Even though hiding doesn’t directly change anything, it sure does a lot for my mental state. And a refreshed mind does wonders. I’m ready to make amends with the kids and to move on. To make the most of the rest of our day. I guess time-outs aren’t just for kids after all.
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