The 4 Stages of a Stewing Mom – Zommy Diaries, Part 2
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Growing up, my mom’s temper blew faster than the winter winds blew.
If it could have been measured using a hurricane’s scale, her mood would escalate from Category 1 to Category 5 in less than a minute.
The only indicator I ever had about an incoming mom-storm was if she was chewing gum. Although she never admitted it, I think she tried to chomp her frustration out on sticks of spearmint flavored gum before angry words escaped her lips.
Unfortunately, the frequency at which she purchased gum was 1/100 of the necessary quota to do substantial damage control.
On the flip side, my father rolled his tongue when he was upset. When you saw dad’s tongue roll, you ran to the other side of the house… FAST.
Does your temper have a predictable pattern? Or do you escalate from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds? Let me know in the comments!
Following are the 4 stages of a stewing mom, Kim-style.
Stage 1: Silence
When I’m initially annoyed, I get quiet. Unfortunately for some, my curse of silence is also shared by frequent hungry grumpies.
And, yes, I do enrage when not fed properly. I would be kicked off Survivor at the first Tribal Council if ever a contestant as my fellow players would not be able to handle hungry-Kim.
My husband, thankfully, can *usually* recognize the difference between irritiated and hungry and will feed me before I bite someone’s head off.
Note: Husband is in the kitchen preparing dinner now, as he has undoubtedly sensed my uncharacteristic unchatiness today. At the moment, my silence is fueled 50/50 by hunger and irritability.
Stage 2: (Not so) Subtle Hints
I get a bit louder in Stage 2. While I don’t come straight out and express what’s bothering me, I make noise while trying to leave clues and queue correction.
For example, yesterday my husband said he was going to do the dishes. No, we don’t have a dishwasher.
Four hours later, a sauce pan had been cleaned.
ALL the cups were stacked (dirty) on the counter, and I had to wash my own spoon to eat my soup at dinner last night.
This morning, all the dishes were still dirty.
So I started doing the dishes, as noisily as possible.
I threw silverware into the sink.
The water was turned on as forcfully as it could be.
And I threw clean dishes (loudly) into cabinets as I put them away, slamming the cabinet doors behind me.
Wow, I sound like a royal brat, yea? (Stay tuned and maybe someday I’ll share why it annoys me so much to do housework. And, NO. I do NOT expect to be waited on.)
Unfortunately/fortunately, a pipe under the sink came loose as I was washing and I suddenly had soaked socks. Considering I was already in my second soaked shirt of the day, I was not happy and yelled for husband to come fix it.
I didn’t stay around to finish doing the dishes, nor will I be returning to them tonight.
My subtle hints were heard, and husband picked up where I left off.
WHOA! How about sharing with fellow zommies?
Stage 3: Stormy and Snarky
My third stage is where things really start getting interesting, and I, admittedly, begin my transformation into mean momma.
Hey, there are 4 stages of a stewing mom, and I wouldn’t get to Stage 3 if people would just do what they said (or were asked) to do. So, if I’m bitchy, it’s justified. Right?
Right. Glad we agree.
By Stage 3, my patience is fried to the point of charred. I’m done trying to be nice and polite.
Think Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka – “Give it to me, and give it to me now.”
This is typically the stage where curse words start getting thrown — “Get your ass up the stairs and do your chore NOW!” and gentle mumbles under my breath became MUCH more pronounced and audible.
I have no problem in Stage 3 telling people — er, family members — they messed up, and tossing in as many “I told you (so)’s” as I need to make my point.
Stage 4: Screaming
Stage 4 of the 4 stages of a stewing mom pisses me off because it’s a huge, mother-f*cking waste of time.
And, let me make it perfectly clear that when my husband causes me to hit Stage 4, there is absolutely NO chance of mother-f*cking happening anytime in the foreseeable future.
It takes days for me to de-escalate. Days.
We only reach Stage 4 when others refuse to listen to me, or try to justify why they’re right and I’m wrong.
But here’s the thing…
I’m always right.
If you want to argue me on that, you better believe I’ll hurt your earbuds to make sure I’m heard.
And I will be heard.
How do YOUR 4 stages of a stewing mom compare to mine?
Leave a comment below and let me know how we compare!