If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy

I’ve been working on my “things I should have read/watched/done/understood by now” list (it’s quite extensive) and I’m reading Little Women on the Kindle app on my phone. I’m a bit late to the whole kindle thing, I prefer to actually hold a book, feel its paper and sniff its pages (nothing kinky, I just like books) but we have to sit with the boys until they fall asleep at night (lest they trash their bedroom and not sleep til the early hours) and I wanted something to do in the dark that was a bit more productive than playing Angry Birds.

So anyway “Marmee” in Little Women, the gentlest, kindest woman you could ever meet, admits to having an anger problem, and says she often needs to disappear for a moment to compose herself. This struck me as pretty inspiring, given that she is the mother of four girls (imagine the hormones in that house) whose husband is away in the forces and she doesn’t even have CBeebies or the Xbox to shut them up when they get bored.

Apart from the screaming rows I had with my mum as a teenager, I’m not a very shouty person. I hate confrontation of any kind and am more likely to sulk or have a panic attack if I’m angry. That all changed when I had kids. Suddenly shouting until I was hoarse became as every day as making a cup of tea.

I don’t like myself when I shout. It doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation, it just makes me, and everyone around me, more stressed. I hate the thought that my kids might look back and remember me snarling at them, and I don’t actually think it makes the slightest difference in their behaviour. It doesn’t even scare them anymore they got so used to it.

So in the last two weeks I have been making a concerted effort not to shout. I have found myself taking an awful lot of deep breaths, shaking with rage and wondering what on earth I was doing this for. But it’s getting easier, I am starting to realise that for me at least, getting angry and shouting was a bit of a habit, and like most habits, it can be broken with a little will power.

Amazingly, the general mood of the entire household has changed. There’s a saying “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” which I never believed before. Living in an all male household, I thought no one even notices Mama let alone gives a crap whether she is happy or not.

But actually, the clues were there all along. I could never understand why the more I got cross, the more the man seemed to get cross too. If I was in a mood, he would instantly be in a mood too. I would get even more angry with him, “For goodness sake, can you not just let me be the pissed off one for once?” which of course didn’t help the situation.

We went to Legoland the other day. Family outings are usually the cause of so much stress that I have to take rescue remedy before I even get up. But while the old me would have been shouting and screaming, stressing and straining, and the man mirroring my behaviour, the new me was calm and collected, we left later than planned, the house still in a bit of a mess but the difference was clearly marked, everyone was happy and excited.

I have noticed a lot less shouting from the boys too. Everyone seems to be happier. But the biggest, most exciting change is in how I feel. I am getting better and better at keeping calm, more practised in the art of not getting angry, and I genuinely feel like I am much nicer to be around. The kids punishments are more conscious and have better results and I don’t wake up still feeling the remnants of yesterdays stress on my shoulders.

Whoever said you should let all your feelings come out had obviously never read Little Women. Maybe bottling things up is not good for you, but having a think about why you’re feeling the way you do and deciding whether or not it’s the most productive way to be, and becoming practised in the art of putting on a happy face even in times of stress is just good sense, because it not only makes yourself feel better, it makes others happy too. OK, having the mood of the entire family is just another responsibility for poor old mama to shoulder, but if Marmee can do it, so can I. 

Be Prepared

It’s 9am on Sunday morning and I have just realised in a panic that I am not going to be able to do my blog tomorrow, because later today we are going visiting my cousin and won’t be returning until tomorrow evening. Until now, come rain or shine, hell or highwater, I have managed to get out a blog on Monday and Friday and I won’t let that change now.

If I was better prepared I would have a blog post already done and dusted and tucked away all ready to pull on out occasions like these. But as we all know I’m not organised, at all.

I love the whole “be prepared” concept. I loved it when I was a Brownie and had to carry a safety pin in my brown leather purse strapped to a waist belt. I never ever needed that safety pin but the lesson stays with me and I still carry a safety pin in my handbag (again, I’ve never needed it, I’m not quite sure what I would need it for, but it gives me comfort knowing it’s there).

My mum takes being prepared to a whole new level. Her handbag is straight out of Mary Poppins. She has her purse plus an emergency purse, and in the days when we went on day trips a lot she would always carry her French purse too. Just in case while in Sainsburys she suddenly decided on an impromptu trip across the Channel and needed some Francs to get some cheap wine or baccy. Carrying three purses is quite a feat of being prepared. She used to carry a small kitchen knife as well as a tin opener, so she was ready when called upon to rustle up a tin of baked beans or slice a nectarine when out and about. Times have changed though, and she would probably be arrested if discovered carrying her innocent but potentially deadly kitchen implements, so she no longer does.

When you have kids being prepared becomes a bit of an art form. Tissues, wipes and raisins are absolute essentials, whether you are leaving the house for 5 minutes or five hours. Many a night out with my mates I have found myself trying to cram raisins into my tiny sparkly purse before I remember that as an adult going out on the lash I probably won’t need them, unless the kebab house is shut.

The man had a bit of a situation yesterday when he took the kids out for a couple of hours. The dudes are 5 and 2 now so we have recently stopped carrying a spare set of clothes for anyone, as we never seemed to need them. Big mistake. While sitting in MacDonalds happily eating his Happy Meal and flirting with some young pretty girls, son number 2 had a toilet situation which, according the man’s account, resembled an erupting volcano, as bright green poo rose from his waistband like expanding foam. It didn’t stop until it reached his armpits, and having no spare clothes, the man has to do his best clean up job in the toilet. Son number two had to spend the rest of the outing in nappy, socks and a hoody, while the man valiantly continued his errands, albeit slightly traumatised. Needless to say we will go back to carrying a spare set of clothing from now on.

But there has to be a limit. Any mum (or dad) knows the importance of raisins (or some form of snack), baby wipes and maybe a nappy. But how can you predict a Vesuvius nappy? Over the years I have been known to carry the following in the name of being prepared: plasters, hairbands and brush (both my boys have long hair), up to 6 nappies for a two hour outing, small packets of tissues, 2 changes of clothing, Calpol sachets (I always, ALWAYS have paracetamol and Imodium in my handbag, my mother carries the contents of a small chemist in hers), a colouring book and pens, a Lego figure or entire Lego Lightning McQueen, drink, an emergency drink, wellies in summer, toilet roll, M&S Percy Pigs (bribe material), a remote control (both babies liked to press buttons) and a Thomas the Tank Engine toilet seat. Looking at the list now I am panicking slightly that I ever risked leaving the house without any of that stuff.

The thing with being prepared is you can think you are going over the top until the moment when something happens and you actually need that thing you took out of your bag at the last minute. You can guarantee that there will be a smug mum saying “I ALWAYS carry a spare set of clothing for Aloysius” when you are desperately trying to wipe baby poo with a napkin and dry trousers in a public toilet with a hand dryer.

So I now need to get packed for our trip away. And I must resist the urge to be over prepared. My cousin has a child too so I won’t need to take too much, we’re only going for one night. 4 changes of clothes for each child should do the trick. And I’d better take the Thomas toilet seat. And plenty of safety pins.