The Sock

“------ please stop.” I said, my jaw in stage 1 of clenching
“No!” she screamed
“------ I am asking you to stop…NOW!” I said, keeping my voice in check until the ‘now’ exploded from lips. Stage 2 of clenched jaw fully in progress.
“No I won’t!” she continued. “Cause you are a dumb, stupid, poop-head, stuck in the toilet, pee-pee yucky mamma, and I hate you!” she screamed. The “I hate you” was emphasized with a kick and punch combo on the back of my seat.

I was trapped…in my car, driving down a major highway, with a really pissed-off kid sitting behind me. There was no way to escape. In only 5 minutes—only a few more miles—I would be home and able to leave this box of rage with wheels. My anger, lack of control over, and inability to escape from the situation, combined with the steady pounding as my daughter kicked my seat, were shoving me to the brink. No doubt she was feeling the same way.

I took a big deep breath trying desperately to grab on to, think of, something pleasant…a rainbow, a joke, a pleasant thought about this kid who was kicking my seat. Instead I just kept thinking: “I’m gonna f---’ kill her!”

I was suffering from an inside the car road rage. I felt like the babysitter in the horror movie when the police call her back and say, “The call is coming from inside the house! Get out!” Getting out would have been the prudent thing to do at this point.

But I couldn’t, so I tried one of my favorite mommy lines, this time fully prepared to back it up. “This is the last warning. Stop now or reap the consequences." (Yes, I used the word reap) Stage 3 of the clench, my teeth now attempting to get back into my gums. There was that eerie calm in my voice. You know, the one that is used in the movies before the killer attacks.

She stopped. Suddenly, there was silence, and peace? Not a sob escaped from the back. Could it be this easy? Is this some developmental stage where 5 year olds actually listen to what you say? I didn’t dare look at her in the rearview mirror. Guess I should have.

Suddenly something came whizzing past my head, hit the dashboard and fell under my leg. As I bent to grope the floor for it, another whizzing item was flung from the back. It bounced off my hand and landed in my lap.

A SOCK! SHE JUST THREW HER %$#@$% SOCKS AT ME!!!!

“That’s what you get, mamma,” came the daring, triumphant voice from the back.

My instinct was to reach back and grab her leg. Afraid I might actually break it in my bare hand or at least cut off all circulation below the knee, I grabbed the sock instead. While steering with my left hand, the sock in my right hand, I heaved it out the open window.

At that moment, even while surrounded by the indignant yells of my daughter, a sense of warm, and all-enveloping peace came over me. In that moment, I knew I could make it home, had it been five more minutes or four more hours. With that sock went my frustration, guilt of losing control, and any negative thoughts of not having enough patience. With that sock, I released my anger at my daughter.

Then I looked behind me to see if there was a police car ready to pull me over for littering.

I started to laugh. How absurd this must look from a car behind us. Erratic driving, then something small and white comes flying out of the car. I laughed at the fact that I had just thrown a sock out of the window that I was going to have to replace. I laughed because it was such a silly, immature thing to do and if felt so wonderful to do it. I laughed because it blatantly violated every rule in the “good mother” handbook!

Not once after that moment did I feel guilty for not having patience, for not being the “adult.” Not once did I berate myself for my lack of good mothering skills when things got tough. Later that day, I apologized to my daughter. This apology came from a different place than any other apology I had offered before. This “I’m sorry” did not mean “I’m sorry for hating you in the moment,” or “I’m sorry of losing my temper because I should know better.” Or even “I’m sorry because I was not good enough to keep you from getting really mad because the 'skilled' mother never lets her kids really lose it.”

This apology came from a place of respect for my feelings. I did not say sorry for the way I felt. I said sorry for expressing it by throwing her sock out the window. I was at a place of acceptance of my inability to be supermom. And it felt good. I am allowed to be mad and pissed off. Being the mature adult doesn’t mean I deny my emotions. Being mature simply means I make mistakes in the way I express them and for that, my dear daughter, I apologize. And then, it even got better. I realized in the end…it's better that she see me as a real mother, with emotions, like intense anger. The funny thing is she will be a better mother for this too.