And by this morning, DH had fixed the wall.  The most evil comment he had to offer through the whole ordeal was, "Well, now you're stuck with it...now you need to pick paint colors." (Which he knows I hate doing.)

He even let me help, which he totally didn't need, but he knew that it would be good for me to be part of the repair process. 

I married a good one there.  His farts could peel paint, he has incredible amounts of belly button lint, and he's started snoring with resounding resonance...but when I lost it and punched a hole in the wall (with my ass, I should point out. My arm wasn't strong enough to do any real damage, but my ass took out a big piece of drywall...even I can see the humor there...), he just held me and hugged me and didn't recriminate, and after I left the house to go back to work he bundled up the kids and went to Home Depot to buy another square of drywall and screws, and once the kids were in bed we--mostly he, but enough we so I can feel like I helped--fixed the hole.  And after I went to bed he patched it, and now there's just a slightly greyer section of wall that needs painting.

Thanks for the sweet comments from the other Moms Who've Been There; it really does help to remember that I'm not the only one who goes through this.  And hitting the wall was my conscious decision not to hit kid or animal, or yell something unforgivable at one of them and cause as much damage as a hit could, so I do take comfort there that I had at least that much control.  Just takes getting used to the fact that i now live in a drywalled house built in the eighties, not a plaster-lathe house built in the 1910's. That one we could clobber the hell out of and get nothing but bruised knuckles. (Not that we did it that often, but it was nice to know one could hit a wall without any real repercussions.)

Also had a talk with the kids, especially Bear (who's old enough to get it), about why we always talk to him about not getting physical when he's angry, with this really object lesson that when a BIG person takes out their angry physically, things get broken, and it's important for him to learn to control his temper by not getting physically violent while he's still small.  And I apologized for losing my temper. (It's REALLY hard, as a parent, to resist the temptation to do the "I'm sorry I did x and such, but if you hadn't done y and z I wouldn't have blah blah..." That's so unhelpful, and it smacks of "you deserved it." Unqualified apology is SO HARD!!)

That said, I need to get a grip.  I'm as of today officially off meat again (somehow while I was a real veg, my disposition was more even.  Then I relaxed and went "flex," and eventually meat was just easier and I was full-fledged omnivore again), and I need to get on my herbs, and I need to get off processed foods, and I need to do some real self-care.  I suspect most of this was set up by my horribly intense 10 hour Saturday a few days ago from which I haven't yet recovered...sucked too much out of me, which I haven't regained.  Last night I potioned myself into oblivion (lemon balm, warm milk with lavender and vanilla, rescue remedy, and my old buddy Elm) and felt fairly even through the night and into this morning, although the Peanut is being a huge pain in my butt still.  (She's currently taking out her fury on the sun for being in her eyes by slapping the window blinds.  Like mother like daughter.)

I wish she'd developmentally hit the whole "empathy" thing already.

Sigh...need to go be mom again...it's good to have blogofriends.
peace,
Jem