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.

Scary Mommy

I seem to have perfected the scary mommy routine. That does not mean it's always effective. But when it is? It's gooooood.

When B decided to climb over his pack n play crib edge and wander to the top of the stairs in our vacation home the other night, I first got scared. Then I got mad. The second time he jumped out of bed while I was waiting in the hall, I got mean. I stuck my face so close to his and I told him never, ever to do that again. Apparently it worked. I also removed the mattress from his crib as well as any stuffed animals which could be used as stair steps to get out of bed. But the next night when I put it all back in? He stayed put.

Yesterday, when all three of my children were fighting over every single thing, including every toy they had not seen in 10 days upon returning to my house and had, within 20 minutes, driven mommy completely over the edge? I revved up the mean mommy and hollered. Wouldn't you know it? They stopped what they were doing. Stared at mean angry mommy. Made me feel like crap. Then went right back to what they were doing. But at least I know I can get their attention.

Sometimes.

Other times its like I'm talking to the wall. I could scream at the top of my lungs and not a reaction could be seen. Not a twitch of an ear. Not a turn of the head. Which does not make mommy quieter.

So, perhaps we're at 50/50 success rate with the mean mommy act. I just have to force myself not to use it too often as we are moving into prime defy mommy age. Otherwise it will lose its power. Such that it is....

You feel calm, veeeery calm..

"They" say that when a kid is defying you by not listening or even reacting to the fact that words are coming out of your face that the worst thing you can do is yell. They list a bunch of other things you shouldn't do, but they actually said yelling was the worst. Because, of course, the little bugger is trying to get a reaction out of you. And yelling? Doesn't scare him yet. He doesn't know that in a few months, when he's emotionally ready to understand punishment? Yelling will be the warning that its comin' on and you'd better get ready for some pain. Emotional pain that is of course. You know, the suffering that comes from sitting on the naughty step and all.

But, really? How am I not supposed to yell? J is grabbing B by the collar of his shirt and pulling pulling yanking dragging him down to the ground because he feels like it and I'm all "J....J.........J.......J.... GODDAMIT J I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!

Because I know he can hear me. He passed his hearing test just fine. He hears the call to dinner just fine. He hears me tiptoeing through his room at night just fine. That boy just wants to kick his brother's butt and there will be no stopping other than physically prying his tight little fists finger by finger from his brother's shirt. This sibling rivalry starts early and it ain't pretty.

I'm just kind of concerned about how it's going to go down when they're 8. Because they'll know judo and ninja moves by then. How many trips to the hospital am I in for between the two of them fighting over stuff? Not to mention the usual silly boy antics that crack open skulls on a regular basis.

But not yelling? That might send me to the hospital. The mental ward. I am a yelly person. If I have to maintain some sort of weird unnatural calm in order to have control over these kids? I'm doomed. And I'd rather screw them up a bit than end up in the padded cell.

I'm just sayin'. Listen to your mother. It's better for your health.