[My real-life friend, Sarah Markley, writes with open-hearted honesty. She agreed to let me re-publish one of her pieces here as a guest post. Thanks, Sarah! ]
I resolved not to yell today.
Given, it's only 4:25 in the afternoon and the day is still young, but so far so good.
And some of you may clickety, click right away from this blog after hearing that. You think, how much does she yell? Was it so bad that she had to intentionally zip her lip and bite her tongue? She had to discipline herself to keep the yells away from her mouth like a chocolate chip cookie waiting to be dipped in 1% milk?
If
you've never wailed in agony at your kids feel free to click somewhere
else right now. I'll wait. In fact, give me five minutes to find the
perfect mother's blog and then put her link here.
[Google searching....]
Couldn't find it, but I'm sure she's out there. I'm just not her.
Last
night I head my oldest daughter yelling at her sister. Top of the
lungs. Screech. Shriek. Scream. It was like she became another person
altogether.
Immediately I knew where she'd learned it. I sound
like that at the end of the day when they won't get in the bathtub and
they leave their toys in piles in the playroom. I sound like that when
they bother and irritate each other with purpose and when they won't
share. I sound like that and she learned it directly from the one she
spends the most time with: me.
When I yell, I become a different mother. I know it. And I wouldn't want to be seven or three and be on the other end of me.
So I'm going to stop. Just like I will put down the chocolate chip cookie that begs to be devoured at 10:17 at night.
I refuse to beg my kids to obey. I will require it.
I won't plead or yell. I will be more patient.
I won't become hysterical. I'm going to try to be more calm.
And I'm going to really try hard not to yell anymore.
