Dealing With Destruction

I told my overly aggressive ten year old daughter to leave the room last night as she’d been picking on my four year old. Of course, Paloma, the ten year old, balked and refused to go. I guided her down the hall to her room, closed the door and suggested she rejoin the family when she got herself together. She’d also have to serve a few minutes of time-out for her misbehaviors. Standard practice at my house, some kids sling themselves in time-out before they’re even told to do so, some drag out the consequences for hours, knowing they won’t ever win this battle at all.

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No sooner had I stepped out on the back deck to fold the clothes I’d hung out to dry when I heard Paloma’s window shatter.

It took all my emotional strength to return to her room and not go ballistic. I was clearly angry but I do not physically hit (spank) my children. They were all abused children before they joined our family. I have smacked a few hands, pushed some children down the hall to their rooms over the years, and I’ve physically forced some to get away from others that they seemed determine to hurt. If any kids needed a whipping, mine certainly do as they’ve kicked in doors, broken windows, punched walls and destroyed furniture over the years, but a whipping wouldn’t accomplish anything in the long run.

I get very angry and I fear my own heart will explode at times because I’ve worked so dadgum hard for every little used piece of furniture that we own. I buy groceries that are sometimes wasted, clothes that get torn up, and toys that they beat the snot out of in their anger. It gets terribly frustrating for a scrawny old lady like me sometimes.

It’s best if I just go outside and weed the garden hard, or take a quick walk until I calm down, as this angry destruction comes with the territory in the adoption of older children. I should have gone outside and jumped on the trampoline until I cooled off, I’d just spent several thousand dollars replacing the busted out back door, broken windows and window frames several months ago. Last night instead I angrily knocked everything off of her dresser. Way to model correct anger management techniques, right? This was wrong, yet human, of me.

I slammed out of her room, fuming and went straight outside to cool off, finding my hens once again stealing my strawberries. I was irked enough to eat with them, they probably have less germs than my kids and within ten minutes, little Miss Window Breaker was out there with me, catching the hens before nightfall and putting them back in the coop where they should have been in the first place.

The kids know I will always forgive them if they apologize. They know this with certainty and many of my kids have been horribly ugly to me over the years. I keep reminding myself that I’m supposed to be the adult here. I get over it, and continue being the mama. Guess who’s getting a new window on her birthday?

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