It actually started out as a Mary Poppins moment. I'd just plated up fresh, hot pancakes for the kids. Everyone was smiling and laughing. The kids were ooohing and aaahing over how delicious the pancakes looked. I was basking in the moment, pleased with the delightful scene.
Then, in an instant, things quickly deteriorated.
A fight broke out over who got more milk. It escalated over who would get to put the Mrs. Buttersworth on their flapjacks first. Arguing turned into yelling. Yelling turned into shrieking. Then someone threw a punch.
And that's when Mom seriously lost it.
I'd just flipped the last batch of pancakes when I turned to see the punch land on its intended target. The victim retaliated, while screaming an ear-piercing, "MOMMMM!"
It was a split second, hair-trigger reaction, but it was honest, genuine and came from my gut.
I slammed the plastic spatula down on the counter with a hard, "THWAK," not once, not twice, but about 15 times, while yelling, "E--NOUGH!"
The kids sat in silence, staring at the madwoman who was splattering pancake batter all over the kitchen. Without a word, I stormed out of the kitchen, into other room to cool off. I could hear their forks scraping their plates, feverishly, as they gobbled up their breakfasts in a panicky, scared silence.
When I returned a minute or two later, calm and composed, the kids' plates were clean and the table had been cleared. (This never happens without my asking.)
My tantrum had been dramatic, and had yielded a dramatic effect. The shock and awe of the moment snapped them out of their frenzy.
My flip out was unplanned, but knowing the powerful effect it had makes me wonder if I shouldn't be afraid to do it more. Thought...thing is, moments like that have to be used sparingly, otherwise the effect is lost.
Instead of realizing their behavior pushed me over the edge, they'll just think I'm nuts in general.
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On Father's Day I received a card from the kids (& wife) that was one of those Far Side cards. On the cover was a picture of two kids watching their Dad through the window. Dear ole Dad was struggling to assemble something and the one kid turns to the other and says "Watch my Dad totally lose it."
Well to add another log on that fire, Friday I was finishing loading the trailer with the bikes and camping gear. To safely haul our load I was pulling tight the bungee cords.
The words "pulling tight" doesn't really do it justice. It was more like exceeding manufacturing tolerances. Well predictably one end of the cord came loose and snapped back and hit me.
Remember that sort of sick game we used to play as kids where someone would hold the end of a rubber band and you'd hold the other and stretch it to see who was the 1st to let it snap? That little rubber band hurt didn't it.
Well the whiplike snap of the bungee cord solidly landed in the meat of my back. Then it ricocheted the hook end into my ear.
Needless to say the result was cataclysmic. I was stomping around the garage in pain, yelling at the top of my lungs. My back really hurt, but the stinging in my right ear was really the straw that broke this camel's back.
When the kids jumped out of the car and asked if I was alright, I as calmly as I could muster, told them very coolly that I was in pain and wanted them back in the car. They promptly returned.
I now am left with one more "watch Dad go crazy" story and a welt in my back that matches exactly the business end of the bungee cord.
Is there a moral to the story? Hell if I know. I think sharing the story is cathartic enough.
Brother Jon
As your little sister - and most often the person holding the other end of the rubber band, which might I point out, you'd let snap on me - I can't help but wonder if this is karma biting you on the ass.
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