I do a lot of yelling. In fact, I often wonder if the neighbors who don’t know me well assume I’m an abusive parent. Whenever I’m outside, I seem to be bellowing at least one of my children’s names and threatening everything from time outs and revoked toys to cancelled trips to Dairy Queen. Whether or not I mean it (it’s often the latter), I think I sound pretty serious.
Of course, my yelling is rarely angry. If anything it’s just a necessary evil. When I’m quiet, no one listens to me. But when I yell, I have a much better chance of moving their attention away from the earth worms they’re torturing and getting all sets of eyes on me.
Unfortunately, the result is everyone in a three block radius being made aware that OLIVER! or GEORGE! or ELEANOR! is NOT LISTENING! or needs to GET OUT OF THE STREET! or BETTER CLIMB OFF THAT CAR!
God – I’m loud.
And I was never like this before – so loud and angry-sounding…. In general, I’m a rather reserved person and I have always been kind and patient with children. In fact, as a babysitter, I was the biggest pushover around. A second helping of ice cream? Of course sweetie. Hmmm – it’s bedtime, but you’re really enjoying this movie…let’s wait until it’s over. What – they’re not allowed to slide down the stairs in laundry baskets?
I wouldn’t say that I was particularly fun myself…but I never got in the way of their good time. And aside from all of that, it would never have occurred to me to raise my voice to any of them. No matter how naughty they were – or how dangerous the situation, they weren’t my children and yelling at them would have seemed unthinkable.
But now I do have children. And I’m not just the easy going babysitter who can be coerced in to allowing pretty much anything that doesn’t involve water and electrical appliances. I’m supposed to make rules and set limits. And then actually enforce them.
So I do a lot of yelling. And I worry about how my children will remember me. Will they look back and see themselves playing happily outside as I scream admonishments at them. Or will they look back and think, “yeah, I guess I really shouldn’t have been throwing dirt at that car…”
As much as I’d like to think they’ll remember the cozier, Rockwellian family scenes of cuddling in bed, reading books or building forts with the couch cushions, who is to say which memories will rise to the surface first. Who knows which will have the stronger resonance. Though I’m pretty sure that laissez faire babysitter I used to be would have a better chance at my preference.
But the truth is – as much as I yell to get their attention outside, I’m also pretty bad about consistent rules and consequences. Until recently, I regarded this as another parenting fail on my part. But in light of this new concern that I’ll be remembered as a mean mommy – that might be a good thing.
Letting children eat leftover birthday cake for breakfast (because they caught me doing it) would be reminisced about with fondness, right? And my tendency to diffuse melt downs with hugs and jokes (and possibly cookies) is a far better image than hours of banishment to naughty steps… So really, I could put a different spin on this lingering shade from my babysitting days if I wanted to. I’m not a poor disciplinarian, I’m just fun (or “not mean”).
I know I’ve made myself sound like a terrible parent with all of the yelling and double desserts…but it goes without saying that I am a responsible mother and I do make sure that we don’t live in complete chaos (notice the disclaimer of “complete”). In the end – like everyone else, I’m just doing the best I can. And I have both hits and misses – sometimes so close together that it’s a wash.
My own mother has often lamented all of the yelling she did when we were little. But the truth is, I have no recollection of this. I only remember her as being the soft, safe place in my world. The true source of unconditional love. And the role model for how much parents should try to understand before passing judgement.
So maybe my worrying is a waste of time. I can’t predict what my kids will remember from their childhood. It may be very little – or it may be every detail. But as long as I keep coming back to my love for them and pride in their every accomplishment, it can’t be that bad.
And I hope that they do remember me sitting around with them eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Because that is far closer to how I feel about them than my displeasure with their dirt focused activities. “Let them eat cake – but don’t let them throw dirt.” That’s how I’d like to be remembered.