It snuck up on me. There were toys EVERYWHERE, as usual. Toys and pajamas and books and shoes and jackets and construction paper and little plastic IKEA snack bowls everywhere. I had a full list of chores plus dinner to prepare, so I asked the kids to pick up one room, any room, while I cooked. Fifteen minutes later there is laughter and then screaming but not a thing picked up. I remind them more firmly that they need to clean up before dinner. Ten minutes go by and again nothing is done. This time they whine. “It’s too haaaaaaard,” they say. “You need to help us. It’s not faaaaaaaaair.”
And I lost it. A full-on screaming tirade. An angry list of all the things I do for them, have been doing on my own all day, still have to do, and they need me to pick up their toys? Pick them up into a garbage bag is all I’m going to do! I screamed at them to put their hands on something, and put it away. Simple as that. Put your hand on something, and put it away. I shouldn’t have to stand here and tell you what to do. I don’t have the energy to direct your every move. I was loud, angry and relentless.
And the worst part: It worked. They hopped right to the task of picking up. It’s the terrible truth of parenting. Yelling works.
But at what price? Adele was cleaning through tears. Lucas had fear in his eyes, which later settled into a hard, strange look of bitterness. They were doing as I demanded, but it pushed us apart. Just a bit, but year after year of yelling will move things in only one direction - away.
Another thing about yelling is that you need to keep doing it. It’s a short-term solution. I don’t want to have to scream uncontrollably every time I want something done around here. The better way is to guide the kids to make smart choices and let them deal with the consequences - good or bad - of their actions. This is a much, much harder way. It is a long, slow lesson. The dividends are paid over a lifetime. They are of little help right now as I’m stepping on raisins, tripping on the Candyland box.
The mysterious energy that carried me through January is gone. Every day is a struggle now, and the yelling is creeping back. The change in Lucas has been sobering, though. He calms himself down instead of exploding. He parrots my parent-speak: “I was upset, but I’m turning it around and trying another way.” After the explosion that ended my month-long streak, I told the kids to finish up on their own while I calmed down in the other room. After a few minutes, Lucas came up and put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing a very nice job of staying calm. I’m very proud of you. Good for you.”
Besides showing me how patronizing I sound, and also finding a way to sneak out of cleaning (I noticed that right away), Lucas showed me that all this is sinking in for him. Today the floor is still a tangle of socks and stuffed animals and legos, but we have a future than doesn’t require constant anger. February hasn’t been easy, but Lucas is working with me. Even as we’re both frustrated and tempers flare, we have a place to bring it back to. I can say “I shouldn’t have yelled. Let’s try this another way.” He can say, “I’m very mad and I can’t stop screaming, but I want a hug.” Things are still rough, but we’re moving closer, not apart. Even with my increasing slip-ups, we’re making this work.
