Over the last six years of parenthood, there have been good days and bad days. The good days occur when generally the following principles apply – the children are cold-free, well-rested, well-fed and well-exercised. However, in reality the bad days rear their head from time to time.
Yesterday was indeed one of those days. I should have guessed it was on its way, as there had been a few bad nights, one too many play-dates and it was raining. We had enjoyed a good six days without a tantrum and who was I to know that it was bubbling under the surfaces of the six, four and two-year old. At 5.30pm it was in full swing and, with my husband not due back for a further 24 hours, I was coming under pressure. I kept my cool for a while, but then realised that I was about to launch into my own tantrum, so I took the advice of Super Nanny and took ‘time out’, to give myself time to calm down. I left the tantrum trio scattered around the house and walked outside, giving the door a good slam behind me. I did several laps of the garden, glanced at the latest spring flowers and the world suddenly seemed brighter. I could still hear all the crying from outside, but I was calm enough for Round 2.
The back door is always a bit stiff and I wrestled with the handle. No joy. The latch had dropped down and I was locked out. Sudden panic hit me. It was getting dark, the children were locked inside with no windows open and my husband was away. What would the neighbours think of me leaving my three darlings inside to scream their little hearts out, only to lock myself in my garden at dusk. Images of social services arriving to question my parenting skills sprung to mind. “Stay calm and focused. I have to get myelf out of this,” I muttered to myself. I shouted through the lock and calmly told my six-year-old daughter what had happened. She instantly dissolved into yet more tears and ran up to her room – not terribly helpful but quite predictable for a damsel in distress. It was my four-year-old son who suddenly stepped up to the mark, once I told him that I was in need of a superhero. He took on the challenge and wrestled with a few locks around the house, while I shouted instructions to him through the letterbox. Eventually, after 40 minutes one lock relented, the door opened and I flung my arms around him with relief.
He stepped back and looked me in the eye. “Mummy, that was a very silly thing to do. I will have to speak to Daddy about this when he gets home.” I looked down at my feet in disgrace and whispered, “Sorry.”
