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The Man Tantrum {A How-To Guide}

A man tantrum is quite different to what I often refer to as “throwing a fit”.

Throwing a fit involves copious amounts of huffing, mumbling and often results in the sweeping of my kitchen floors. To prove to me that I am wrong, he is helpful. He’s so helpful he’s doing something I already should have done.

I have been known to incite my husband to throw a fit, simply to get my kitchen floor clean.

No, a man tantrum is completely different. It begins with passive aggression, leads to the silent treatment and results in the final, gritted teeth outburst, allowing you to find out what is actually wrong. Then you will receive more silent treatment and attitude.

I’m not sure why you would ever want your partner to throw a man tantrum, however, should you ever require or desire to see a grown man spit the dummy, I’ve come up with this handy how-to guide.

The Man Tantrum in 5 easy steps

1. This is possibly the most important of all the steps. This is your foundation for the man tantrum. This is how you ensure your partner or husband is in the right state of mind for man tantrumming.

Illness - of any sort. I have come to realise that men, of any age, find illness to be particularly unmanageable. There’s a reason someone coined the term man flu. Really there is. I have one 32 year old male, and two 2.5 year old males in this house. And I’m telling you now – illness, sickness, the sniffles – anything will work.

I found a case of sinusitis and middle ear infections in both ears were quite effective ~~yesterday~~recently.

2. Travel - a man tantrum is entirely possible at home, but I find that the best environment for a man tantrum is actually the car. The driving to and fro, the in and out of the car, getting confused and/or lost, the kids screaming continuously in the back seat – all these elements result in the perfect habitat for a man tantrum.

If you are ever so fortunate, I find that Canberra traffic provides perfect conditions for our goal.

3. Heat – the Australian summer is perfect. If you can’t afford to travel to Australia for the heat of late summer, then I suggest you crank up the heater – or even invest in some heat lamps to hang overhead.

I’m not sure anything will be able to replicate the searing heat of the Aussie summer sun through a car window, but I’m sure you could give it a crack!

4. An Unsympathetic Wife/Significant Other - this step is quite important, although not as important as Step 1: Illness. You’ll find that even with a shoulder to lean on, chances are illness will result in a man tantrum anyway. However, if you are after the ultimate man tantrum, I suggest you lose your sympathy and stop listening to your partner’s complaints.

Men hate being ill, they hate it more when no one cares they are ill.

They hate it even more when no one cares they are ill, and then drag them into a situation in which they are not allowed to wallow in their illness.

I have mastered the art of unsympathy (is so a thing!).**

Which brings me to step 5.

5. A public, social, event. Family or otherwise – a family event is probably preferable. Mostly because long-forgotten tensions may bubble to the surface.

I guess if there were ever a reason for a man tantrum, getting you out of something you didn’t want to go to in the first place would be it.

But I find that it really is best if you and your children have been looking forward to the event. Any, and I mean any, event you have been looking forward to will do.

Best friend’s baby’s Christening? Let me tell you, perfect.

I could imagine a wedding would be equally as wonderful.

I guarantee that with all these elements, a man tantrum is inevitable.

You will then have the option of embarrassing yourself or leaving.

I chose both, simply because I don’t like to do things by halves.

–

**An alternate post for this title could be: “How to be a terrible wife and drag your quite ill husband around the state whilst your children scream in the backseat and you call him a whinger under your breath. Repeatedly.” But that was too long so I went with this title instead.

Teapots fix everything

So yesterday was interesting.

First, Pal was called into work around 4:30am because his apprentice’s brother had been in a car accident (he’s ok, in case you are wondering).

Then Roo, who had found her way into our bed yet again, woke and decided to play hide and seek with my blankets. At 5am.

After giving up on any chance of returning to sleep (at 6:30am – I really did give ignoring her a good hot shot) I got up and decided to release the Two from their prison.

Known as their bedroom. Filled with toys. Complete with a trampoline – otherwise known as two mattresses on the ground.

As I opened the door, I heard Fraser singing.

The song all mothers dread to hear.

“I poo, I poo, I poo!”

And in the split second before I opened the door fully, I honest to goodness thought I was just going to have to change a rather unpleasant nappy.

Oh how naive I was.

There, sitting in the middle of his bed (aforementioned mattress on the ground), was my eldest son (by 40 seconds).

Completely, utterly, starkers.

He had managed to wrangle his way out of his sleeping bag, his big softie pajamas, his clip up suit underneath, and his nappy.

In order to poo all over his bedroom floor.

And you know what I thought?

Thank goodness he ate all those bananas yesterday.

By 7am all the children were fed and I proceeded to dress them and get Roo ready for her day at daycare.

By 8:30 we were wandering down to her school and picking as many flowers as possible on the way.

Because Pal had left for work so early, he had forgotten to get the correct pram out of the boot of the car and so I decided that seeing as we were, for once, early for dropping the girl at school, we would head over, say hi to Daddy and do the pram swap dance.

Big mistake.

In the process of the pram swap dance I managed to offend my husband mightily.

At which point he yelled at me in front of both customers and colleagues and threw his bread rolls all over the ground.

In his defense, he was exhausted and I had forgotten to do something he had repeatedly asked me to do.

And, being the gracious and cool headed wife we all know me to be – *ahem* – I took his bank card and wandered down the street to buy myself a new teapot.

Because that will teach him!

That evening, when he asked me about the new addition to my teapot collection (and had apologized for the outburst), and why it was necessary, I told him exactly how and why that teapot now sits on my kitchen bench.

And that, ladies, is how revenge is best served.

As tea.

Confessions of a Superhero

{image}Some time ago I made the decision that I was no longer going to put myself last.

I was no longer going to self-sacrifice to the point where there was hardly any self left.

That I was no longer going to be concerned about how I was viewed as a mother or as a wife.

That what really mattered, the people I really needed to impress, didn’t need impressing.

I started getting my hair done regularly.

I started buying that lippy, or that top, or those shoes I was after.

I started making time for my relationship – started saying yes to offers of babysitting so we could go out.

I started making a point of having time with my friends – going out with the girls, staying in with the girls, talking on the phone to My Bestie Amelia. Going to stay with My Bestie Amelia.

Because somewhere along the line, I had realized that I wasn’t OK.

I was trying to live up to the super mum mentality that is so rife. I was trying so hard to be everything to everybody, I stopped being me. And I stopped coping.

And I did it all because everyone told me how well I was coping. What a great mum I was. How it must be hard to sacrifice so much.

And, considering my penchant for overachievement, I began to put on an even braver, more serene and got-it-all together coping face.

Piled on the commitments and sacrifices. The pressure and the expectations.

All because of what people might think if I pulled off the gold leaf paper mâché facade.

–

And I recently heard the gossip from my husband’s workplace, about us, about me.

How my husband does everything. He comes home from work and has the children thrust upon him. He is made to feed them, bathe them and put them to bed.

How he must care for them when I “run off” to wherever it is I run off too. That I sacrifice time with my family for “the blog. Whatever that is.”

And you know what, it’s all true.

Pal does come home from work and help me give the children dinner.

Pal does put them in the bath while I prepare their pjs and then we both dress them.

Pal does put the children to bed with a story book and a kiss.

But not because I make him – he does all these things because he is a committed and loving father. He understands the value of having a relationship with his children.

And I do “run off” for “the blog. Whatever that is.” I did it twice last year. I’ll have “run off” about three or four times by the end of this year.

I do go out with my friends, spend time getting my hair done, spend money on makeup.

That’s all true too.

Pal is supportive, encouraging, and also my chief wardrobe consultant. He “allows” me these moments, these “run offs”, because he is a committed and loving husband.

He understands more than anyone how important it is to find some space. Time to think. Have some fun. Because once upon a time he was very far away from being OK, and nearly lost his whole world.

And I nearly lost mine.

–

These past few weeks, months really – I’ve been on the edge.

And when I came home from Sydney, and RUOK Day, I was thrust back into life with three kids three and under with violent force.

One sick, two out of sorts because their mother had been away, and now she was back but preoccupied with their sibling.

I came out of an environment in which I felt refreshed, energised, valued- into one in which I felt stuck, overwhelmed and lost.

And despite knowing the SuperMum myth is a load of bullshit, and knowing that putting myself last all the time isn’t healthy, and that it helps no one to pretend to be brave, serene and across it all – you know what I did?

I put on my “Of course I’m coping and everything’s fine and I’m totally the best mum/wife/sister/daughter/friend/blogger” hat.

And promptly had a mental health episode that left me with too many coat hangers.

And despite using my washing to feel like I had some kind of control, I knew, and my husband knew, and my friends knew, that I needed more help.

So I went and got some.

Help that is, not more coat hangers.

From a friendly and understanding GP, a mother – someone who just “got it”.

It’s not all better now. It’s going to take some hard work and some adjustments for our family. But we have an action plan.

And that’s a start.

Where can you see a giant chalk drawing of a cow and a glass of Pimm’s in the one place?

Last night Pal and I went out for dinner for our 5th wedding anniversary.

Pal’s mum and brother came to babysit. I had asked Pal to ask them if they could take the children for a sleepover, but Pal did not.

He in fact only remembered to ask him mum to babysit two days beforehand.

Which goes to show two things:

One. If you want something done, do it yourself.

Two. My inlaws are awesome for agreeing to look after our ferals on short notice.

I had wanted to avoid a 6am wakeup after a night with such copious amounts of celebration.

Alas, once I realized that a 6am wakeup was inevitable I curbed my expectations of numerous bottles of champagne, savoured over candle light.

To just one glass of champagne thrown back in order to be home before 9pm.

But who cares really? I didn’t once I was presented with this little precious:

Once we’d fancied ourselves up (and I mean fancy, Pal was literally more dressed up for dinner than he was for our wedding – where he wore jeans) we headed out.

It was half an hour before our dinner reservation, which meant there was only one thing to do.

Go to the pub for a drink:

Gin and Tonic for he win!

We decided to leave after we were informed we’d be able to buy meat raffle tickets soon. Because I love a good meat raffle, but fancy 5th wedding anniversaries are not conducive.

We headed to the restaurant:

I had never been there before but it is now my favourite place on Earth. For two reasons:

One. The atmosphere, decor and food was beautiful.

Two. They serve a mean Pimms.

Fancy branches, giant tin light shades, candlelight and fancy chair covers

Pork Belly, fried onion and peach Chutney share plate for entree

Veal Saltimbocca, jacket potato and the tastiest, crunchiest green beans in existence

Pal’s Wagyu rump with Wild mushroom sauce

Beer Battered Onion Rings

Seriously good stuff. Seriously too much. Seriously going back. And not just for the huge chalk drawing of a cow.

We were home at 8:45pm. Because we are total ragers. And also because my husband is a baker/pastry chef and manager of the bakery department and often starts work at 5:30am.

Which I knew when I married him. 5 years ago.

Daisy Roo and Two

motherhood. crochet. cake.

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