Orange Rhino Days 3 & 4...back to square 1

So Saturday was fine...until it was time to go to a birthday party.  Alex flipped out (and lately 'flipped out' for him carries a whole new fatalistic over-dramatized meaning) about the wrapping paper on his gift.  You see, he asked Abby to go down to the basement to choose a roll for him to wrap the gift for his friend Parker.  (This was Friday afternoon.)  She brought up one that seemed pretty gender-neutral--one that had been used to wrap Dad's bday gift in, no less--and he used it.  Only after it was cut & ON the gift, did he begin to think that maybe it was too girly.  It really was borderline.  So we added Seahawk-colored ribbon and called it good.

And it was, until it was time to walk out the door, at which point he noticed that it occasionally read in really really small print, "For the Birthday Girl."

Oh, woof.  (I love you, Muppet Treasure Island)

Commence flippage.  Holy cow, it was her fault, it was his fault, it was everyone's fault and I'm pretty much sick & tired of his frustrated outbursts lately.  They come on rather suddenly and don't go away until he's good and ready.  It's always over a small thing, like...well, like miniscule print on the part of a gift that won't be noticed, THEN will be tossed in the trash.  And it gets big.  Obscenely big.  Let's see...words like 'overreaction' and 'worked up' and 'fury' and 'belligerent' come to mind.  He works himself into a lather and there's not much that I can do to bring him down.  Not right now, at least.  I just need to weather the storm and let it blow over.

Or send it to its room until it can behave civilly.

Which is what I often do when it's clear that he's put up some serious walls of defense around his fury; walls that no logic or breathing or realistic thinking can break through.  When he was little and was driving me out of my ever-loving gourd and I just wanted to throw him out the nearest window (figuratively, of course--though I'll never forget the face of my 5yo niece when she heard me say that once), the best--and most counter-intuitive--thing I could do was to kneel down and wrap that little whirlwind in my arms until it settled into a breeze.  Nowadays, though, he doesn't want me to touch him.

So I send him to his room to calm down.

(Hubby noted that it's weird that he's never witnessed this.  He saves his awesomest behavior for me.  To quote everyone's favorite Idaho nerd, "Lucky!")

And for people like EmF and Kristen and Aubrey and Chicklegirl...please believe me that I'm not just making this up to get attention.  My perfect little angel boy who loves to make others happy and be obedient really does turn into Mr. Hyde.

So anyway...Alex had jumped off the deep end of this empty pool and we were supposed to get into the car at that moment.  And I yelled.  I angrily and frustratedly yelled, "Let it go!  It's not a big deal!  Nobody will notice and nobody will care!  Just LET IT GO!!!"

And he did.  By the time we got 5 minutes down the road, he was fine.  That's how fast these storms blow over.  But the point is that I didn't stay calm and controlled.  I was ugly at my sweet boy when he needed a safe, stable harbor through which to rage.  Blech.

The library was fine, the party was stinkin' hot, but we all had a good time.  Then AFTER the party I 'oopsied' again.

The scene: the swivel rocker and matching ottoman in my living room.  Weston had decided that his nightcap needed to take an extra long time, and I'm hearing voices upstairs.  Wondering whether or not Cora had been obedient (pssht!) and gotten her jammies on, I call to her...

"Cora?"  slightly raised voice so she can hear me upstairs
no response
"Cora!" a little louder
silence, except for the sound of her playing at the top of the stairs
still louder and getting frustrated, but not yet yelling, "Cora, when I call you need to answer me!"
nothing
"CORA!" I mean, I'm nursing a really heavy, easily-distractable baby.  I can't really go to her.
Lee: "Go!"
pause
"CORA!!"
Lee: "GO!"
didja guess it yet?
Yep, this is the part where I was so frustrated and angry that she was flat-out blatantly ig.no.ring. me that I let fly one of my super-awesome loudest-I-can yells tinged with my own fury.  It actually hurt my throat.  *fail*  She finally responded.  But why in the name of all that is calm and peaceful couldn't the scene have just gone like this:

"Cora?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Are you jammied?"
"Uummm.....not yet."  (Which means I got distracted and I'm not even close.)
"Okay, Honey, go do jammies and teeth."

???

So I had a couple moments of suckiness yesterday.  Blech.

But!  Check this out:  I woke up late for church, got the kids up, dressed, breakfasted (they stayed remarkably on-task this morning and I praised them for it in the car!), ready, me showered & ready, left the house 3 minutes after the meeting had begun (ugh) and DID NOT YELL AT THE CHILDREN EVEN ONE LITTLE BITTY TIME!!!  Yahoo!!!  Hubby will tell you that that is a MAJOR accomplishment!

2 yuck + 1 super big yippee = imperfection, but improvement.  And that's what I'm looking for.