Screamers Anonymous

Yelling is the new spanking, or so I've read recently in parenting magazines. It's no longer socially acceptable, and hasn't been for awhile; instead, time-outs, calm-but-firm instructions, distractions and praise for good behavior have taken their place. Also, saying "no" should be limited lest kids build up resistance and the word loses its punch. And don't even think of using, "Because I said so!" That's gone the way of tube socks.

The response to all this? My guess is that most parents have stopped yelling ... out in public, anyway. Of course, some were never screamers and some don't care--they'll shout their way through the check-out line in any grocery store where long waits and off-limit candy racks bring out the best in every child. (Ha!)

I'll admit it, sometimes I raise my voice a peep. Ok, I can howl like a blood-thirsty werewolf if I'm tired, hungry and provoked. Oh all right, ya got me. I've been known to screech even on a full stomach. I'm not proud of it. And the "new rules of parenting behavior," make me feel guiltier. I don't want to scream. I try to hold back. But then ... siiiiiggghhhh ... out it erupts like the fiery hot lava from Mt. Vesuvius.

The main trigger these days is refereeing Boss and Stinker. Mostly, it's blowing the whistle on Boss who is yanking toys out of Stinker's hands, throwing Lincoln Logs at his head, lying too close to him with flailing legs that could take out a tooth, pushing him over--sweet and gentle little things like that. In other words, he's acting like a 2-year-old. In the worst way. Stinker, who for about three short weeks, didn't care much about these infractions, now gives a rodent bum and lets out his trademark pterodactyl scream in protest.

Usually, I intervene somewhat calmly at first: "Please don't take toys from your brother. It's not nice and it makes him sad. You need to ask for that nicely or give him something else to play with."

Boss: "No, dat's MIIIIINNNNEEEE!," he squeals. He's not convinced, not even a little.

Stinker looks at me and cries. I give him another toy. Boss rips it away.

I'm now in devil voice mode--growling through gritted teeth. "Did you hear what I said? We DON'T take toys from other people! You wouldn't like it if someone did that to you. Don't do it again or you get a TIME! OUT!"

I move Stinker 3 feet away from Boss and give him a third toy, which is promptly stolen again. Boss tries, unsuccessfully to juggle all three items in his arms. I'd laugh if I wasn't so annoyed. Stinker goes reptile, I get madder, Boss remains a jerk.

"That's it! TIME OUT! " I roar. "Get on the couch! NOOWWW!"

I calm Stinker down, set the timer, turn off the toddler tunes, explain to Boss why he's in the penalty box, mutter some choice words under my breath, and get some tea. I feel lousy. We all feel lousy.

I think about my yelling and find myself grateful that Hubbo has allergies so we can keep the windows shut in the summer. Some lovely next-door neighbors just moved in with their toddler and I'm excited for a future friendship between all of us. But what if they hear me? Will they think I'm crazy? Do other moms do this? Am I the only closet yeller?

I'm guessing I'm not, and that makes me feel a little better. The thing is, it's not really affirmation that I'm after; I just wish I could be Mary Poppins and insert sugary spoonfuls of sweetness into difficult situations.

When that doesn't work, I'll guess I'll remind myself that Mary Poppins is fiction--a cheerful yet ridiculous bunch of bull hockey. Or I'll try yelling "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" at the top of my lungs. It's hard to say that in the devil voice--much less a scream.