Grouchy Part 2

The dog pulled my rose out of the ground last night. I was so mad I had to put him in the house to keep from beating him with the rose. And yet, the Butcher’s sick, so I had to get up and walk the dog and not be a giant dick, because he doesn’t remember why I’m mad at him.

I don’t know how people with kids do it. Because knocking the shit out of another creature, especially a creature who isn’t really intending to upset you, is wrong. But man, it would have been so satisfying to make the dog as upset as I was. And kids are easy to upset.

So, you have to be able to both be hugely pissed, because things happen and you’re hugely pissed when someone tramples your garden and tears up your rose, and you have to consistently, every time, not give over to that anger and instead try to find some way of curtailing behavior without hurting your children. That’s got to be so fucking hard. And, sometimes, they do shit on purpose.

I don’t know. Just, sometimes, I have these feelings, these kinds of monstrous rages. Not often, but often enough, that it makes me relieved I never had kids. I mean, I don’t think that feeling, that suspicion, that knocking the shit out of something would be so fucking satisfying, comes out of nowhere. I think that’s a mixture of nature and nurture. We’ve got those impulses and we’ve taught ourselves to act on them, generation after generation.

Well, this is a depressing post. But the dog remains unbeaten. I’ve passed no terrible ways of dealing with the world to a next generation. The rose isn’t obviously dead this morning.


3 thoughts on “Grouchy Part 2

  1. There is a lot of anger management involved with kids, it’s true. But I find it easier than with animals, because you know at some point, they’ll grow out of whatever they are doing now. Whereas my cat will never, ever learn to poop inside his box instead of next to it; we just gave up and bought one of those dog-walking poop-picker-uppers because he just can’t learn. He is not a smart cat, and he will never get any smarter. But my kid will. So mostly I had to learn to walk away, breathe deep, send him to timeout and remember that hitting never taught me anything as a kid except “be afraid of your parents.” When he got old enough, I told him (in the process of telling him why he couldn’t hit others) that we had decided not to spank/hit him ever, because we didn’t think it was right to do it, even though our parents did it. “We don’t hit in this family.” I did this partly because now if I forgot myself and did hit, the consequences would be much bigger; my kid would think I was a liar, and he might start hitting too. It made it easier to hold myself accountable. And of course he was happy to become my monitor. “We don’t hit, Mom, remember.” So I do.

  2. That makes sense. I suppose, at a point, it must become easier just because you know they can understand you, whereas last night, part of what pissed me off so much was that I was yelling stop and he was just like “Oh, noise!”

  3. Aie. Sorry for the rose. I sympathize with the rage-feelings. They scared me a lot more when I was younger and had a lot less patience (they still alarm me, but I can feel the patience switch kick in. Maybe it’s all the yoga paying off). I don’t know what I’d’ve done with kids. Animals were hard enough.

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