I woke up on Saturday and decided I was taking back my house. We’ve been making costumes for my daughters’ upcoming anime convention and the house was strewn with random pieces of fabric, thread bits, scissors, wire, boxes full of odds and ends, bolts of fabric, garbage from cutting and trimming, pins and needles. I was really sick of it.

My mother and younger daughter finished her costume last weekend. I was on board to finish my oldest daughter’s Pokémon costume. Last week I made the tail and was patting myself on the back until I started making the wings. The wings had different fabric on both sides with the back fabric creating a ridge in the front. I struggled with the perspective of the wings until I finally got one right. But I hadn’t duplicated it before I sewed it together and could not seem to mirror it. I gave up in frustration and had put it off ever since.

But yesterday morning I woke up determined to finish the costume so I could reclaim my home. I don’t know what it was; I guess my resolve to be done with it all took over, giving me clarity on how to resolve the problem and I just sat down and whipped out both wings and figured out how to attach them to the costume.

I guess I was in a sort of rage when I woke up yesterday. I wasn’t yelling or ranting, but I was so focused on my intent to have my house back, I felt like I went into it like a bull charging a matador. And quite literally, my children have told me, I put my head down and charge forward when I’m in a rage.

A couple months ago I was at my oldest daughter’s high school helping with the band adjudication. I was talking to a couple other moms about traits our children inherited from their fathers. One mom said her son inherited his father’s writing skills. Always being the joker, I said my daughter inherited my husband’s ability to make weird sound effects with her mouth and an ability to sit in a chaotic room and not be disturbed.

The other moms thought that was a really good ability to have inherited (the latter, not the former). At first I disagreed, because if you’re on the other end of someone who does not get disturbed by chaos, it also means they don’t get disturbed when the house is chaotic; okay, what I really mean is they don’t get chaotic when I start raging.

During a rage I usually come to my senses when I have gone through a whole gamut of thoughts and feelings that built up in my head. It probably lasts only about 15 minutes or as long as it takes to finish the task I started raging about. Although, I may have to remove myself from the scene to cool down (aka pout).

Sometimes I would really like my husband and oldest daughter to get excited when I’m raging. I want to feel listened to, I want people to jump and take action, I want things to get done. Often, though, the reality is when I’m raging it really is just best to be quiet and still, because sometimes no matter how much they try to help assuage my rages, they really won’t be able to do anything right until I’m done raging.

I laughingly told the other moms about how my family has learned to deal with me during a rage. It is very much like the running of the bulls, they jump out of the way and watch me thunder past them. But one mom wished her husband and kids would let her rage and get it out of her system. They interrupt her and then she feels she has to start over.

So whether it’s finishing a costume, cleaning house, resolving a problem or feeling overwhelmed, my family knows the signs: head down, full speed ahead. They let me rage, they scramble to help when called and they know it will be over soon. The feeling will pass, the task will get done, and calm will settle once again.

But let’s face it, nothing would ever get done if moms didn’t rage once in awhile.

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. She is committed to writing about the humor amidst the chaos of a family. You can read more of her writing and her daily blog on her website livingwithgleigh.com.