Mother’s fury: So it’s not just me
On balance, I have to admit, my children are not too bad. Perhaps DH and I were lucky with our genetic combination, or perhaps it was the iron rule with which we’re bringing them up, but generally, our kids are pretty calm and well-behaved.
But, as any mum will tell you, even the best-mannered child has its “moments” (and this is the reason why you should never judge another mum, not unless she’s shoving Red Bull and vodka down the mouth of her lap-dancing 3-year-old, at which point I think some judgement is probably called for).
Anyway, mine do, occasionally, drive me absolutely frothy-mouthed and insane with rage. And, often, this seems to happen in the car. Perhaps it’s incessant whingeing (and who likes it when the whingeing drowns out the radio?), or perhaps it’s the unnecessary goading of each other.
If it’s really bad, I sometimes look for a safe place to stop (usually a bus stop on the perimeter road of AR), screech to a dramatic halt and scream back at whichever child is being the most pesky. Often, the emergency stop is enough to scare them into behaving.
And although I sometimes fantasize about throwing one or both of them out of the car to give them a good enough shock to prevent any future whining, I’m yet to do it.
But yesterday I drove past a car stopped on the side of the road, from which the mum was ejecting her two boys. Clearly apoplectic with fury, she threw them out, spitting with the kind of anger only a mother can imagine, then got back in herself as they clawed frantically at the closed doors, terrified that she was going to drive away without them.
Ha! I thought. Good for you, babe. That should teach them not to do whatever it was they were doing.
And then I saw the police car approaching.
I really hope she had a good story ready.