Storms

A storm blew up in my house this morning. In all honesty, I blew up at my children this morning: provoked by an 8-year-old in PJs playing with Lego, chores still undone and a 5 year-old-who just will not stop interuppting. My reaction, however, was not of a calm and controlled parent but of a minor volcano.
As I followed Kathy's advice (thanks for the timely posting) and barricaded myself in my bedroom to rant, sob and pray, I heard myself cry out to God what was underneath all this. At 8am I had a tearful mother with a screaming baby on the 'phone and she wanted an answer which I just didn't have. I am a Breastfeeding Counsellor so I expect calls from mums, but this was particularly early, difficult and painful on my ears. I read about the Australian fires and for the first time began to grasp the horror of what has happened and I am haunted by one detail in particular, my mind circling back and again to an image I wish I didn't have. Then I spent some time looking for some suitable resources on The Trail of Tears to complete our brief study of Early American History. This episode of cruelty and ethnic cleansing leaves me shocked and angry and by the time I reached my children this morning I was already emotionally stirred up, reeling from a world I don't always like and can't understand. Perhaps it is no wonder that it took so little to light the blue touch-paper.
It is no excuse for yelling at my loved ones, but I am hoping that by noticing, by taking stock of how I was feeling, I can learn when to tread carefull, when to lock myself away for those precious moments of reflection before, rather than after, a storm breaks.