Weekly Column: Drama Mama

©Stephenie Freeman

If you asked me point blank, I would swear up and down, with my eyes rolling and arms waving considerably, that I am not a dramatic person. Me? A Drama Queen? Absolutely not! How could you think such a thing?

If you asked my husband, however, you would undoubtedly get a much different answer.

I will admit that there are times when I can get “overly animated” about something. I’m passionate. I feel things deeply and sometimes when you feel things deeply, those feelings regurgitate themselves in an exceedingly dramatic fashion.

Yes, I have had my fair share of drama-filled moments. But I am not a Drama Queen. I am a Drama Mama.

Motherhood is filled with drama. I am well known for throwing out phrases like, “I have nothing left to give!” or “Just take me out and shoot me!” that air on the theatrical side of the emotional spectrum. But like most mamas, these phrases usually come when I’m at the end of my rope, when I am right on the verge of either biting someone’s head off or bursting into tears or both.

Drama Mama appears only for good reason. I’ve never taken advantage of or abused my right to have a Drama Mama Moment now and then. Then again, who would dare deny me my Drama Mama Moment when all hell has broken loose?

For example, a few weeks ago the Golfer was out of town for four days, the air conditioning went out, the boys broke their toilet seat, and an unexpected trip to the vet ended up costing me five hundred bucks. Let’s just say I had a Drama Mama Moment Extraordinaire!

Near the end of August, our air conditioner broke. A part needed to be ordered and would take at least three days until it was installed. Now, unless you live in Antarctica or somewhere equally as chilly, the month of August can be miserably hot. It just turned out that where I live, on the days that I would be living without an air conditioner, there was going to be record-breaking heat.

My Facebook status declared, “Just take me out and shoot me.”

On the fifth day of no air conditioning and temperature over 100 degrees, Drama Mama finally made an appearance. I had held her off for days, pushed her away and denied her any power. But after getting the run around from the repairman and being told that it would be three more days before everything was fixed, I could no longer restrain her.

My week had consisted of things falling apart all around me and no husband to help fix them. I had replaced broken toilet seats, endured sleepless night in pools of my own sweat, and had a dog with a large cone around her neck that made her look like a mini satellite dish. I had had it.

I informed everyone on Twitter that, “I had nothing left to give.”

So I did something that I haven’t done in decades: I laid down on the floor, held my breath, and kicked my feet. I was a grown woman, 36 years young, and I was throwing a fit.

I realize how ridiculous I must have looked. My children and our two dogs stopped what they were doing to stare at me in amazement. I think my 4-year-old was actually quite impressed. It was almost as if he were looking at me and thinking, “Ahhhhh, so that’s how you do it!”

Perhaps throwing a fit wasn’t the healthiest way that I could have expressed my emotions, but it could have been so much worse. I could have screamed and yelled and thrown things, scaring the pants right off my children. Instead, I had expressed my emotions in a way that my young children could totally relate to.

And the next time that one of them decides to throw a fit, Drama Mama might just join in.

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