Yelling

I come from a family of yellers. One might not be surprised that having alcoholics for parents and loud family arguments kind of go hand in hand. It wasn't until I was 30 something that I put 2 and 2 together and understood why so many family dinners dissolved into screaming and fighting and crying. As a child I also couldn't figure out why the arguments always went so wrong; I was constantly misunderstood and consequently constantly defending myself. I developed a deep emotional wound that even the smallest misunderstanding could trigger and send me into paroxysms of explaining and apologizing until I would hopefully be 'let off the hook' by those I offended.

Exhausting.

My husband comes from a quiet family. Now admittedly, this may have been in reaction to their own family histories. Grandma on one side was known for dish throwing and temper, my guess is she wasn't quiet about it either. So her child naturally was drawn to a quiet person who dealt with their feelings in a calm way. Oh heck, my mother in law never gets above a 5 on the loudness meter even when at her angriest.

My husband chose me, however, so this aversion to emotionally demonstrative and slightly verbally intense women seems to skip a generation now and then. I instantly felt out of place in their house when I went for the aforementioned grandma's funeral, I was the bull in the china shop. My family would have feelings all over the place, including the good ones like funny stories about the deceased. Here I felt like I was in a monastery, which is emphatically not where I fit in.

However, I loved the peace and silence at times. I've written before about christmas in this family and how delightful a drama free season was (well, as drama free as it could be since my mom knows how to dial a phone,) and how I relished the safety of a home like that. Now it doesn't mean that people weren't thinking things I suppose but it sure seemed like a judgement free atmosphere and certainly no one yelled. Ever.

Except me. The funny thing is that I only have to raise my voice 2 levels to be accused of yelling by my husband. I often pause in confusion thinking, I wasn't yelling? You wanna hear yelling? But the main point of this essay is my feelings on yelling at my children. Good God, does anyone really WANT to yell at their children? There are long conversations in my triplet online group about our guilt that our triplets regularly push us so far with their behavior that we end up yelling at them. Half the time it has more to do with our tiredness or our being sick more than them really behaving any differently than usual, but those with children will agree that some days? Those kids are just full of terrifying ideas.

And they seem to hone in on when you're vulnerable due to some other trauma going on in your life and really sock it to ya that day. And you could have your best poker face on and be singing along with them when they decide to just say no to everything you say or ignore you or pick on a sibling until you are a roiling ball of rage with veins popping out all over while you shriek like some lunatic about what the heck is wrong with them anyway?

And when you're yelling you tend to say things that you really never meant to say. Things your parents used to say to you: "Why are you doing this to ME?" "What is your problem?" and "Why are you being so bad?" Those may seem minor but to a kid who isn't always sure that you love them all the time no matter what it can be poison. It can seep into their souls and convince them that there IS something 'wrong' with them. That there's some horrible side of them that makes them a bad child and that deep down inside there is some dark part of them that no one would love.

Or at least that's what happened with me, so I can't let it happen again. Mommy needs to take more time outs. Kids respect time out. Kids might learn something about being a grown up or how to control their own anger by watching mommy take a moment to calm herself instead of screaming whatever comes into her head. This, of course, is way harder than one might think. The rage is like lightening for me, one minute I'm handling the children calmly and rationally and the next the control line has snapped and I'm grabbing and spitting and yowling like a rabid cat. My own rage from childhood even feeds into the lack of control because I'm recognizing that I am not in control and my being their mother is not 'good enough.' Just like the way I was not in control as a daughter and never a 'good enough' daughter.

It's amazing and terrifying. I want to be a loving role model to my children and have a house of peace, not crazy drama like my own childhood. I am not an addict, so that's a step in the right direction, now I've got to get my rage under control. It is not fair to visit the sins of my father (and mother) upon my children. Thank god I'm already in therapy.

The Blank Stare

The Blank Stare

My son B has perfected it.

And it drives me absolutely batty.

Let's see why! Imagine your 2 + year old kid wailing in bed at 8:15, a full hour and a half after lights out. You rush in to see what is the matter, and he immediately shuts up. Then you ask him what's wrong, what do you need, why are you crying, any number of permutations of 'tell me why you need me' and what does this child do?

He just goes mute. Oh, and he's apparently unable to move in order to point or nod either. He stares at me with his wide blue eyes and no expression on his face.

It's maddening. Because then? I leave the room and the INSTANT the door closes? Waaaaiiiiillll.

So I go in a second time. Mute. Third time? Mute. And depending on my sanity and amount of sleep that day the muteness enrages me to differing levels. Sometimes the muteness seems like insolence. Sometimes it seems like the paralysis of a boy who is too scared to speak. Why the latter would be true until the 4th time I go in raging like some kind of crazy bear I don't know. I'm not scary the first 3 times. I don't even have bed head yet. I likely have a little wine on board. I'm lovely for goodness' sake. So I don't think it's fear. But I'm not sure it's insolence either.

Some argue he's trying to get a rise out of me. Well it works. My choice is to sit eating my dinner listening to him wail or go in and guess what the heck is wrong with him. Is it your diaper, your bear, your boogers, what? I know this boy can speak when he wants to. But he's as good at withholding speech as I am at withholding sex.

Which is to say, damn good.

Too damned good.

If this kid isn't smothered by the time he's 3 it'll be a miracle. That silent look takes on all sorts of evil permutations when I'm already tired and frustrated. He is either an evil genius or he has a mental problem. I'd hate to punish him if there's truly something that prevents him from communicating. But I'm pretty sure he's just a pain in my butt. So I guess you're all thinking to yourselves that not going in is the answer. But that boy can wail a good long time. And half the house is trying to sleep. And that just sucks. As does a glass of wine while listening to whining. Not totally sucky but mostly.

I'm pretty sure this boy was put on the planet to finish my sanity off. Does every mother have one of these children?

Books again.

Ah books. Such perverters of good intentions. Back in the old days I could stay up late reading a good book and compensate by sleeping in or taking a nap. Not so much these days. I've lost the right to sleep in and apparently lost my napping mojo. I lay down and the brain kicks in. As does the fetus in my belly.

And with the triplets coming off of back to back colds, we are not getting great nights. At least 3 wake ups every night. I'd ignore it but we also just had two nights in a row of double diaper failures so one feels somewhat obligated to run in, feel up waists and legs for wetness and then run out at the very least. I can't expect them to sleep in wet pjs right? But extinguishing night wake ups begins again, or began again last night with B. After the requisite wet check he was roundly ignored by the mommy in her bed when he continued to screech for another 20 to 30 min. Off and on mind you, the most annoying sort, since you get all drowsy and then "wah!" and then you get all drowsy and "wah!"

But such is the nature of the beast. Or beasts, as there are three. But back to the book. It is so imperative that I not buy books people! Every time I have one in my possession and dare to read it I exhaust myself and ignore my responsibilities while I finish it. Bad plan mommy. But reading just feels so nice. And NORMAL. Kind of like sleeping.

Right now I'm reading a book about mormon polygamy (The 19th Wife) which is actually pretty good and may actually make me feel better about my situation, mightn't it? Although having another wife or two around to share childcare and house chores....

And the hubby would sure get more attention.

Eh, what can I do but sit around this last morning of the week where I get some free time and enjoy my book. It's grey and cold outside (great SF weather this week! Monsoon, fog, rain, cold, grey.) so I might as well enjoy hanging out in bed for an hour reading.

Thus this un-entertaining post. But honestly? My absences have lost me so many readers and commenters I felt I had better post at least a few times this week. I doubt I'll get them back but eventually....I'll get inspired and write again. Perhaps I'll even remember how to be funny.

But I'll leave you with one more crazy mom comment. Wednesday when A was trying a fruit snack thing and had sucked on it and spit it out into my hand but then wanted another? Mom says "you should make her eat it." Apparently force feeding toddlers is also in her skills book. She just forgot her toddler size gavage tube for direct shunting to the stomach of objects rejected by the toddler palate.

Oh mom. Back to the book.