Screaming My Head Off

Oh, puhleeze! According to The New York Times Style section, we are a generation that yells at our children. That’s right, yells. We wouldn’t even think of spanking their behinds (some of us, anyway), but we sure do yell.

So, why are we yelling our heads off, New York Times Style section? Do tell! Even though it is kind of hard to picture any of you as parents. I mean, you’re just soooooo BUSY covering all those parties and writing in-depth stories about $5,000 handbags and such. Not exactly the kind of subject matter that lends itself to being a parenting expert but, whatever.

Seems as though we resort to yelling when all those other “positive” disciplinary techniques fly out the window. You know –reminding, role playing, three chances, timeouts, etc.

In the house I grew up in, yelling was an art form. I didn’t realize that people could actually communicate in a normal tone of voice until after I left for college. Once I had children of my own, I vowed I would NEVER yell. I would speak firmly, yet kindly. I would be fair-minded. I would take the time to explain.

Fifteen years later and counting, you’ll never guess what I learned. Sometimes those strategies work and sometimes they don’t. And sometimes, yes sometimes, you just gotta yell.

Like when Big Man’s been asked three times (firmly, but nicely) to turn off the television, peel his teenage body off the couch and set the table for dinner.

Here’s what I shout: “I’ve asked you THREE times to come help!!!! I'm working hard making dinner and all you can do is stare at Sponge Bob stupid shit!!!! Now I’ve HAD it!!!! I am PISSED!!!!

Guess what Big Man does? Scurries to switch off the tube and more likely than not, yes gentle readers, offers me an apology.

Damn straight!

What is so wrong with letting my kids know, that once they cross a certain line, I get mad? That I can get mad, let them know about it, and after the emotions clear, we can come back together and probably even have a good laugh over me calling Sponge Bob a stupid shit?

When I do yell, I really try to make sure I don't blurt out something that's going to scar them for life (which can be quite a feat during a certain time of the month).

And I'm pretty sure I don’t go screaming my head off on a regular basis. In fact, Little Man tells me I’m an “occasional yeller.”

“It’s only when you want to make a point,” Little Man explains, “Like when we’re doing something really bad.”

“So, you think I’m justified when I yell?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he nods.

The way I see it, there are worse things you can do to a kid. Like have him pretend to be launched in a homemade weather balloon and set him up to lie about it on national television.

At the mall the other day PB and I were behind a mom with her five-year-old. The boy was working hard to pull down a store display and the mom was going, “Buddy??? Buddy??? Put that down…okay??? You know…you really can’t do that. Buddy??? Okay???”

PB nudged me and said, “Should we break the news that that really doesn’t work.”

No need. She’ll figure it out soon enough.