Love manages anger

This week I have evening commitments, so the kids aren't seeing me much. They have a very low tolerance for that, and let me know it. Last night, I got home ten minutes too late to say goodnight - they were both asleep when I kissed their cheeks.

I started thinking about how to fit in more time with them. I realized that I have a webinar Thursday night, and I'm starting my Kung Fu class on Friday evening, so if I wanted time it would have to be my usual yoga/workout time on Thursday evening. Right away, I resented having to give it up. My neck twanged just to reinforce the point that I was not prioritizing self-care. But really, how much self care can I justify. This week, the balance tips the other way because of extra demands and a new "me" activity.

I decided to set the clock a half hour early, even though I was late going to bed, so I could fit yoga into the morning. And of course, I hit the snooze and got up at the usual time. I was so mad at myself, but also really tired and grumpy. As I went down the stairs to start making breakfast, I came upon my husband, taking care of himself and doing his stretches, which he needs to do. And I resented it.

Do you see a theme beginning? I did. But I felt powerless to stop it. Suddenly all the hard things about my life right now started piling themselves up in my mind, building pressure as I rejected them and the feelings they stirred. I just didn't have time! I felt myself growing brittle, detached, resentment seething under my surface. I wanted to stop it. I tried to focus on my breath. The thoughts wouldn't leave me, they poked and jeered.

I should never speak in this state.

I said, "I hope you'll still be on time. I had to give up my workout today and I don't want to be late."

Ouch. To his credit, he just said, "Oh, yes, I"ll be on time."

I went downstairs. I started assembling food, making coffee, resenting and being mad at myself for resenting and half-heartedly trying to stop resenting while starting to weaken against the soothing flow of self-pity. Suddenly, my husband came down the stairs, fast and determined. He removed the container from my hand and wrapped me in a giant hug.

His heart against my heart, his arms supporting my lower back, his sigh and my sigh synchronous. I felt the pressure release, dissipate. The underlying angst that feeds my moods is not gone, but in that moment, he relieved the pressure that would have been an explosion. He noticed it building, and he didn't reject me or judge me for failing to fight it more strongly. He loved me.

Love manages anger. Even mine.

Here, together

S. watches Papa and B. leave for dance class, and I see the click of realization: she has Mommy to herself. Not one to miss an opportunity, she states her position from the start. “I stay at the house,” she says, softly but clearly. I reply brightly, “Yes, we can stay here for a few more minutes, and then we’re going to music with Sasha!” Her eyes meet mine but she doesn’t return my hopeful smile. “No. I stay at the house.” A beat passes, then “Here, mommy, here with you” just in case I didn’t understand.


I'm not too phased – as I do when at my best, I started this conversation a good 10 minutes before we actually have to get ready to leave. We chat about her toys, cuddle on the sofa to read a book, and then I say, “Thank you for the play time! Now we’ll get ready to go to music!” Before I even finish the sentence, she's squirming away from my side, her back to me and face deliberately turned away. She crawls lazily along the floor to a chair across the room, climbs up, and sits firmly to face me. I say, clinging still to optimism, “Let’s go, Sabine, we’ll get your shoes with the flowers, and you can have a snack in the car!” She watches me in silence.


Now we are in the critical 3 minutes – the difference between running in the door just as class starts, or bustling in disruptively late and missing the “hello” song, which tends to set a sullen tone. Here comes my adrenaline; I hear myself sigh heavily, and it reminds me to breathe.


I move to the floor at her feet. “So, you don’t want to go to music?” emerges from my mouth, disappointment dripping from my feigned surprise. Her eyes widen in silent regard, as if to say “duh.” (Hey, that’s my look!) “No music?” I ask again. She shakes her head so hard her upper torso comes along for the ride.

And then something breaks through my adrenaline focus, a stutter in the undercurrent of “must do next” that is my perpetual background process. I feel a sensation like opening just under my ribcage and it takes me a second to realize it’s relief.

“Okay,” I say with a more genuine smile than I’ve shown all morning. “Let’s stay here, together.” Her eyes light on mine and she leaps from the chair into my arms.