Losing your shit in the carpark. Always, in the carpark.

Butter would not melt in their mouths? Make that vegemite.

I am a big believer in being kind to yourself. Oh and others of course, but today it is all about me. I have a confession.


The kids have been slowly killing me for the last week.


I adore my kids. And I truly adored them this morning when I dropped them off at tennis camp.


On Monday I was “that” lady. That lady in the carpark completely losing her shit at her kids. You know what I am talking about? You can see varied examples of this everyday in public. It is not pretty and it is not satisfying, but sometimes you get to that place where deep breathing and pleading for peace is not going to cut the mustard, and you explode like an expired can of condensed milk. Everywhere.


Yep. That was me. A dripping hot mess. 


We were going to the movies to see the new film Brave, and the demand button was stuck on activate. “Can I have this?” “Why is this taking so long?” “What time does the movie start?” “Harry is hurting me!” “Can we get popcorn?” “What are we having for dinner?” “Is anyone coming over tonight?” “Can we get McDonalds?” and so on and so on and so on. 


Now I am not a smacker an I am not a negotiator. I am generally pretty chilled out. My elastic band runs quite long. But they had been stretching it constantly for days and this time, it snapped.


I downloaded a torrent of vile, nasty words into their ears that immediately silenced them. Just like letting air out of over stuffed tyres, until I burst into hysterical tears.


I remember seeing my mum crying on a few occasions as a kid, and it was the worst experience ever. The someone you love more than anyone in the world, hurting so bad. The boys had that look on their face, silent and stunned.


Until Jack informed me that he was going to call the police and have me arrested. Which made me explode with hysterical laughter.


I suppose my point to all of this is you are not a bad mother if you completely lose your rag at your kids. We all do it, to varying degrees I suspect. It is a question of being kind to yourself, realising when you are breaking point, and knowing that tomorrow will be better.


PS Jack, we do not dial 911 here in this country. You have been watching too much television, my sweet.