eat, pray, post

waxing poetic, waning frenetic

  • eat,pray,post

The Legendary Styrofoam Cooler Conniption of 1974

January 27, 2017 By Kim

You feel it. You’re getting warm, and you begin to simmer. As the heat rises, you try to push it back.  You take deep breaths, and you count to ten. You walk outside.

But, despite your best efforts to squash it, your blood boils over, and you just can’t take it anymore. You’ve rolled yourself into a full blown mommy tantrum, and there’s nothing you can do to tap the brakes.

So, you blow your stack!

You scream at your kids. They run for the hills as your swirling tornado of emotion overcomes their physical space.

The steam flies loose as you march around. Your heart races, you slam things and yell some more. Your eyes get crazy and you might even drop an F-bomb. And then you immediately regret the F-bomb.

Usually you work hard to maintain your composure, but mommy tantrums are real, and you are really experiencing one. You’re out of control. And all it took was one small thing to finally tip the cart.

Afterwards, you beat yourself up about it. Because you’re not supposed to get that mad. You’re supposed to maintain grace and stability at all times.  When you’re a mommy, you are supposed to keep your cool.   

You’re not allowed to explode like a volcano, but you will and you do. Hopefully, it’s seldom, but still, you will. And guess what? It’s normal. And I’m here to say that as long as there are no emotional or physical injuries involved, your tantrum will become the stuff of family folklore.

“Remember when mom went nuts that time you spilled your milkshake all over the couch?!” your adult children may someday lament with giggles, recalling the incident well, and thank God they think it’s funny now, because it wasn’t funny then. At least it wasn’t funny for you.

I’ll never forget the time my sweet mother had a complete conniption over a small Styrofoam cooler. When my brother, sister and I talk about it, we laugh uncontrollably. During the telling, my mom quietly closes her eyes, still visibly upset with herself over losing her composure. But, damn the story is funny.

We were getting ready to go to the beach, and my mother was packing up the car. We kids were running around in our tube socks and terry-cloth shorts being nuisances, not helping at all, and fighting (of course). She brought out a stack of towels and beach toys, and was getting the food ready. She had a new, small, Styrofoam cooler in the garage and went to look for it (it happened to be the third one she purchased that summer). In the corner, she found it with the lid broken in half (my bother), the red handle falling off (my sister) and a piece missing from the side (I bit into it just to see my tooth impression).

And then, she completely lost her shit.

“WHY CAN’T I HAVE ANYTHING?!!” her primal scream, with head tilted back, echoed down the street across several yards.

“GODDAMN IT YOU KIDS ARE DRIVING ME TO DRINK!!” she bellowed, moaning as if in physical pain. Then, she marched through the garage with a purpose I had never seen before. We kids scattered like mice.  

She snatched up the cooler, stomped into the driveway, and threw it down. My brother, sister and I ran inside and watched in awe (and growing alarm) from the safety of a closed screened door. Mommy had never behaved this way before and we were frightened.

My mother then picked it up and with perfect form, punted it like a football. Next, she took a running leap to jump on it and smash it some more. She yelled, “CAN’T I EVER HAVE ANYTHING?! WHY CAN’T I HAVE ANYTHING?!”  

Then, she huffed back into the garage, selecting a pitch fork (a pitch fork!) from the wall where all the tools were hanging. Our little eyes grew wide, and our heads shifted down into our necks. What was she going to do next?

She raised the pitch fork over her head like an ax and slammed in down flat on the cooler. Then, she wound it up like a golf club and teed off right in the middle of the driveway, sending larger parts of the cooler off into the grass. The lightness of the Styrofoam apparently fueled her anger even more! She ran and swung several times, down the length of the yard, sending bits and pieces of the cooler all over the place. Shards of Styrofoam flew like feathers across our front lawn.

“DO I HAVE TO BUY ANOTHER ONE!??!” she seethed, shaking her head. Shaking all over, actually.

With the cooler sufficiently destroyed, she stabbed the pitch fork into the ground, and her shoulders sank. She turned to look at us with tears in her eyes and what can only be described as a witch’s face, angry, crumpled, defeated, pained. We prudently ducked and scattered again.

With her rage subsiding, she ordered us to clean up the tiny pieces of Styrofoam while she chucked our lunches and snacks into a paper bag. Then, she calmly told us to get in the car. We carefully obliged. She never apologized, but we saw it in her eyes. Mommy guilt.

We rode in silence to the beach, where we proceeded to have a great day. It was fun, because my mom always made things fun for us. It wasn’t until we kids were well into our 20’s that the cooler “incident” was brought up in conversation with my mom present. We laughed until our bellies hurt that night (yes, a bit of drinking and embellishing was involved) but I could see that my mother still felt remorse over her loss of control. I reassured her that the cooler was there for a reason – it took a beating instead of us that day.

The mommy tantrum is real. And most of us have had one (or two, or three). Most of us have “lost it” at some point, and it’s really okay. And I bet you have a story about your own mother. I was talking to a friend the other day, and she relayed a time when her own mother got so mad she threw a vacuum cleaner out the front door down the steps.

As long as no one gets hurt, that anger, when we lose control, is the flip side of our loving mommy fierceness. Harnessing that passion and energy is what helps us protect our children. Sorry to say, the guilt never truly goes away when we lose our cool. But we must remember that we are human. And humans can only take so much.

In a real fight, I’d place my bet on any mom in the ring, because I bore witness to a “category 5 mommy tantrum” and lived to tell the story.

Filed Under: funny, Mothers, satire, Truth Tagged With: conniption, cooler, funny, grace, mothers, satire, Styrofoam, tantrum

Comments

  1. lyn says

    January 27, 2017 at 11:04 am

    I recall the incident as if I was actually there. It is hilarious and so out of character for Pam that makes it funnier. I think it is time to write about the paving incident when Keri decided to cover herself with road tar when Keith was “supervising” the children. Have fun with that one.

    • Kim says

      January 28, 2017 at 8:42 am

      haha…I remember the details, but not the whole story. Poor baby Keri! Thanks for reading!

  2. Barbara says

    January 27, 2017 at 11:05 am

    Making memories…Good for you Pam!!!!! We have all been there..done that. Now we can chuckle about it!!

    • Kim says

      January 28, 2017 at 8:41 am

      LOL, so true! My biggest “conniption” happened when I kicked a hole it the wall. OMG.

June 2025
M T W T F S S
 1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
30  
« Dec    

Archives

  • December 2021 (1)
  • September 2021 (2)
  • September 2020 (1)
  • August 2020 (1)
  • June 2020 (1)
  • April 2020 (2)
  • March 2020 (1)
  • January 2020 (1)
  • December 2019 (1)
  • November 2019 (2)
  • October 2019 (1)
  • September 2019 (1)
  • August 2019 (1)
  • July 2019 (1)
  • June 2019 (1)
  • April 2019 (2)
  • February 2019 (2)
  • January 2019 (1)
  • December 2018 (1)
  • November 2018 (2)
  • October 2018 (1)
  • September 2018 (2)
  • August 2018 (2)
  • July 2018 (3)
  • June 2018 (3)
  • May 2018 (3)
  • April 2018 (2)
  • March 2018 (2)
  • February 2018 (1)
  • December 2017 (1)
  • November 2017 (4)
  • October 2017 (2)
  • September 2017 (5)
  • August 2017 (3)
  • July 2017 (5)
  • June 2017 (1)
  • May 2017 (3)
  • April 2017 (5)
  • March 2017 (2)
  • February 2017 (3)
  • January 2017 (3)
  • December 2016 (4)
  • November 2016 (4)
  • October 2016 (3)
  • September 2016 (4)
  • August 2016 (5)
  • July 2016 (5)
  • June 2016 (5)
  • May 2016 (10)
  • April 2016 (7)
  • March 2016 (5)
  • February 2016 (4)
  • January 2016 (6)
  • December 2015 (6)
  • November 2015 (9)
  • October 2015 (11)
  • September 2015 (7)
  • August 2015 (13)
  • July 2015 (6)
  • June 2015 (2)
  • May 2015 (1)
  • April 2015 (1)
  • March 2015 (1)
  • February 2015 (2)

About Kim

I am a poet, a writer, an over-the-top mischief maker, a trash talker, and an old school dirty bird. I will never (ever) say no to a properly aerated glass of Malbec on a Friday night. I use words like “feminist” and “sartorial” and “no” and actively flirt with a decline in readership whenever I put them all into one, cohesive sentence. I like mountain biking, trails, succulents, books, inspirational quotes and vivid dreams. I strive to live with a grateful, open heart. What I know to be true is that there is always time for personal reflection and change. It's never too late to grow new wings and learn to fly again. Namaste!

My essays and poetry can also be found at Rebelle Society, The Elephant Journal, The Manifest-Station, The Minds Journal, The Imperfect Parent, Scary Mommy, BonBon Break, Litchfield Magazine, The Block Island Times, and Today's Mama.

Copyright © 2025 · Kim Valzania, Eat, Pray, Post[