One day, Addie and I went to the pool with my sister, my nephew and the kids my sister takes care of.  We played, we swam, we basked in the warm sunlight with a panoramic view of snow covered Rocky Mountains across the valley.  At lunch time I gave Addie her 10 minute warning to get out of the pool.  Then 5.  Then 2.  Then it was time to get out.

She crossed her arms.  “No.”

I gave her another chance.  Her response? “NO!”

Okay, “Addie, if you don’t get out of the pool you’re going to lose your dress up dresses for three days.”

She screamed, “I’M NOT GETTING OUT!”

I was already dressed so my wonderful big sister volunteered to wade into the baby pool and get my loving daughter for me.  As soon as she touched me she started kicking and screaming and deperately trying to get out of my arms.  I had her wrapped in the towel and walked into the clubhouse away from all the wide, prying eyes around the pool to have one of our calm down talks.  Through the building and out the back door we went, my patience pooling in every damp step left behind.  By the time we got outside my go-to parenting method of quiet questions and deep breaths had been drowned out by Addie’s frantic screeching and scratching up and down my arms and across my face.

I wrapped my hands around her arms only tight enough to keep them by her sides, I put my face level with hers and told her she had to stop right now.  Volume increased – for both of us.  The more frantic she became, the less controlled I felt.  Pretty soon, my ususal calm and quiet voice was shaking with anger and tears.  After threatning to take some other toy away, call her father and never take her swimming again she leaned forward and sunk her teeth into my upper arm.  And pulled.

I tucked her under my arm, walked back to the pool area and gathered our things.  While Addie screamed and squirmed in my arms I apologized to my sister and walked to the car.  What followed were long minutes of Addie fighting my putting her in her carseat, unbuckling her seat belt and biting the chest piece of her restraints.  We were both yelling and crying at this point, all control was lost.  She was vicious and I sobbed asking her why she was so mean.

I have never felt like a worse parent.

Halfway down the mountain I had an epiphany: This wasn’t her fault.  I was not being a good parent to her.  It is MY job to teach her how to act in these situations and all I had done was reiterate to her that anger and harshness was the right way to react.  I felt like a failure.

So in my calmest voice I asked her if she wanted to pull over and calm down together.  “Yes mama” she wimpered.  I pulled into Red Rocks national park and parked the car.  After pulling her into my lap and wiping her tears I apologozed to her for the way I acted.  I told her how much I love her and that mommies shouldn’t lose their tempers with their babies.  She apologized to me and we talked about what went wrong.

In that moment I knew that I could never react in anger again.  No matter how justified I feel or how horrible she is acting: it is MY job to show her the right path.

So every time she explodes and tells me how much she wants a different family, I hug her and tell her how much I love her.  I stroke her hair and tell her how much I care about how she feels and that I need her to calm down so I can understand. And she does.  And then we talk.

In the moments when it is the most difficult to swallow my pride and frustration, I do it because I know that as she grows up she will know to respond to others with love and a calm heart.  She will not be filled with rage and sadness.  She will be all those things because her mom and dad have made the choice to tackle these lessons now rather than teach her to react with anger and then, 1o years later, wonder why she is such an angry, uncooperative teenager.

Parenting is hard.  And I know its only going to get harder.  But nothing could EVER be as wonderful as knowing that we are setting down a strong foundation for the rest of Addison’s life.  And that makes it ALL okay.