The sun has been shining. Oh, glorious warm days. And with the rising temperatures have gone the windows. Storms up. Screens down. All of a sudden, the goings on inside my house are public. We live in a neighborhood that is close to ideal. Stop for a minute. Picture “neighborhood.” Yup. That’s us. Cute little town. Sidewalks. Diner and hardware store within walking distance. Fenced-in yards that kids cut through to get home from school. On a warm spring night like this one I can hear not only the familiar dogs but people grilling in the apartments across the street, the next door neighbors’ screen door slam and the clanking of dishes in their kitchen and the unhappy toddler on the other side of us. And, I’m sure everyone can hear me. When I yell. At my kids.
I can’t believe that I yell at my kids. I hate that I yell at my kids. I know that my (nearly nonexistent) patience level is directly correlated to my (dangerously lack of) sleep. And no sleep and no patience leads to a short temper. My poor children.
On the other hand. What is it about children’s wiring that makes it seemingly impossible for them to respond to a parent THE FIRST TIME.
I feel now, with the windows up and fresh air billowing into my cozy, cluttered house, kind of like the way I feel when I am in the grocery store. With all. three. kids. The entire time I am weaving in and out of the aisles, trying to remember everything on the list, trying to compare prices and get out coupons that aren’t yet expired, I am TALKING. Non-stop. Telling someone not to touch something. Or not to open something. Or not to put something in the cart. Or to follow me. Watch out for the other carts. I talk the entire time. Out of necessity. I talk ALL DAY. Out of necessity. And most of it is instructive. And most of that seems negative. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. I am conscious of this. And I do praise my kids a lot. But then there are the times when nothing works. I’m exhausted. At the end of my rope. With my buttons practically glowing “PUSH ME” to the kids. And sometimes I have to talk in a LOUD voice.
I try to warn the kids. “Please go brush your teeth now.”
“But, Mom.”
“B. It’s time to brush your teeth.”
Silence. Then, ”Can I just…”
“I will ask you nicely one more time. Please put down the Matchbox cars and brush your teeth. Do you need me to help you with the toothpaste?”
“But, Mom. Can’t I just do it in the morning.”
“I don’t want to have to raise my voice.”
“But I brushed them this morning.”
“BRUSH. YOUR. TEETH.”
Cry. Stomp. Yell. (“This isn’t FAIR!”) Skulk to the bathroom sink. Brush teeth.
I hate this. I hate that I do it. I hate that it works. But now that the windows have been open the past few days, I find I am trying even harder to give them warnings. To find other ways to motivate them. I am trying to be a better parent because I am hearing myself loudly through other people’s ears. And sometimes I don’t like what I’m hearing.
I used to be such an introvert. Happy to sit alone in my tidy apartment reading all afternoon. Or writing. (About things other than my children.) Now, I feel like a bully half the time. I guess I didn’t realize that becoming a mother is like a self appointment to CEO. Uh, I never really wanted to run a business, thank you very much. But that’s what I do. I give orders. And I expect them to be obeyed (to a certain extent, anyway). And to do it, I have to talk. But I don’t have to yell. And I’m trying to remember that more.
Oh, and after the teeth are brushed, what happens?
Wipe face. Seek out mom. Give mom hug.
These children and their immense abilities to forgive. To allow their actions to speak volumes more than the millions of words that leave my mouth every day. They understand so much. Just what they are doing. And just how much they can get from it. And on the days when I don’t have to hurry them somewhere. On the days that they can have the freedom of setting their own schedule. On the days that I awake in the morning feeling somewhat restored by a few winks, my vocal chords are much less in demand. And with the weather nicer and school winding to a close and Em sleeping a lee-tle better, there is hope for all of us. This business of family. In our house. Our yard. And the neighbors on all sides. Thank you, neighbors.
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When we lived in Florida, and Jamis was a baby – well, I suppose he was 2ish – I couldn’t get him down for a nap one day. There was construction going on next door and the workers had asked to borrow a tool earlier. After I totally lost all control and screamed and slammed doors and started crying the workers promptly knocked on the door to return the borrowed item. At that first knock I was snapped back to reality and realized, of course, that the house next door was but 8 feet from our own, that the workers must have heard everything, that, in fact, the people across the street must have heard everything too.
I look back on it now and think, Poor Little Jamis, Mommy Lost Her Mind That Day. But the truth is, it happens. And the other truth is that sometimes these neighbors of ours must hear it. Needless to say, I’ve been quieting my voice these days as well. We are all playing in the backyard and I am trying not to yell – too loudly. I don’t want people to look in and think, “Those parents are so mean.” Then again, it’s not too difficult to be perceived as ‘mean’ these days when the kids out there appear to be ruling the roost.
Oh, I hear you with the opened windows…my older daughter tantrumed so loud (and lied when she did it) that we had to shut the windows before sending her to her room. She screamed (with her face physically touching the screen…gross, to top it off) about all of these awful things we “did” to her – toys we took away, monsters we let sneak into her room, food we refused her. (Of course I NEVER yell, so I have no idea where she got it from…)