Old Yeller

My poor children. They had no control over their lot in life. Sure, they have a roof over their heads, food, and clothing. And love. Lots and lots of love. But what they don’t have is a patient mother. And when their mother, charming though she may be, loses her temper, there is a lot of yelling. A lot. So much so that they may lose sight of the love part.

I can go from zero to screaming at lightning speed. I feel like I’ve shown my girls this phenomenon enough times that they should know how to avoid these ugly situations altogether but, surprisingly, they still give me reasons to do it. I’m not proud of it.  (I’ve typed that sentence in almost every blog post I’ve ever done. I need to go in search of something I am proud of so I don’t always come off as a gigantic loser.) When I’m around parents who don’t yell at the first sign of trouble, I marvel at their restraint. My inner monologue tells me what a horrible mother I am. And yet, when I am in the middle of an irrational rant, that same inner monologue is telling me that I should proceed with guns blazing.

I have noticed that I can’t always predict when I will take complete leave of my mental faculties. For example, one kid can spill a full glass of milk all over the table and floor and I can calmly mop it up without incident. I’ll even let them off the hook by telling them that it happens and it’s not a big deal. After all, the child feels bad enough that they have made this mess, why make it worse? But, at other times; times that don’t create messes like these and are ostensibly less calamitous; I can become a crazy, uncontrollable hothead. It’s shameful really. I’m old enough to know better. I know that yelling doesn’t solve anything and, in fact, makes everything worse. Yet it continues. I guess I want to shock them. Really make them understand my anger in order to prevent whatever it is from happening again. But in reality there’s probably not that much thought that goes into it. I just get mad and blow up. End of story.

A recent example of this is - again – “something I am not proud of”. It happened in the car line as I was dropping my kids off at school.  The drive to school had been pleasant enough.  We didn’t have the radio on.  We were just talking – Me, Kate and Meg. Kate had asked if I would play her a song on my IPod that they are forbidden from listening to. The song in question is Starships by Nicki Minaj (something I am also not proud of) and even though it’s the edited version, it’s still AWFUL. It’s on there because it’s a good song to run to. But there are all kinds of bad words in it and I won’t let my kids hear it.

I have plenty of songs on my IPod that have bad words in them. The difference is that most of the time, I only have to turn the volume down at one point in the song. With Starships, I have to really be on my toes and turn it down every two seconds. That’s too much work and it’s too risky, so they can’t listen to it. Period. But Kate really wants to know what’s so bad about it. She was trying to reason with me by putting it this way:

I need to know what the bad words are because what if I’m making up words and I accidentally make up one of the bad words from this song and then I get in trouble?

I explained that if she was unlucky enough to actually make up a word that lo and behold is a bad word from this particular song, we would discuss it then. But, until that time, I was okay with her not knowing what they were. Then Meg piped in from the backseat,

Is one of them the bad word that Kate taught me?

Now I’m intrigued. 

What word did Kate teach you?

Kate immediately became defensive and begged her sister not to tell me. Meg said,

I don’t want to tell you because if I say it, I’ll get in trouble.

Kate quickly let me know that it was a word that she and I had talked about before.  I asked her what it started with.

“A”.

Ass.  Okay, I can deal with ass.  I then said the word out loud and said that yes, “ass” is an ugly word for bottom and that they should not use it. Incidentally, the movie A Christmas Story has the word in it a few times when one character calls another a “smartass”. So, they’ve definitely heard it used and know that it is not a nice word and they are not to use it. I reiterated this fact.

If I had just stopped there, that might have been the end of it. But no, I thought about the fact that they go to a Christian school and have a Bible class a few times a week. The word “ass” is in the Bible in reference to donkeys.  It’s even in the traditional version of The Little Drummer Boy at Christmastime. I was afraid that they would be confused if they read it or heard it come out of their Bible teacher’s mouth. So, I explained that there is, in fact, a use for the word that isn’t ugly that they might hear. After I explained that it was another word for a donkey and that it appears in the Bible, one of them said inquisitively,

God said ass?

I knew what they were thinking. If God can say ass then so could they. And of course, like clockwork, all I began hearing from the backseat was ass.  Ass. Ass. Ass. I knew I had to put a stop to all of the assery going on, so I very firmly said this:

You know what girls, forget what I said. You should just refer to a donkey as a donkey and not even use that word. There is never a good reason to say “ass”. Do you understand? There’s just not ever a situation where that word is an appropriate one to use. It’s just an ugly word and it’s never a good idea to use it. Do you understand?

They said they understood and ass was seemingly put to bed.

But Maggie, you’re thinking, that sounded like a focused, reasoned response. Where was the yelling you’ve told us about?

I’m glad you asked.

We arrived at the school and got in line with the other cars full of children. As we slowly approached the drop-off zone, the girls unbuckled themselves and began gathering their backpacks and lunch boxes. I opened the minivan door with the push of a button (which I love) and Kate hopped out. I told her to have a good day and I turned to Meg in anticipation for the kiss she always gives me on her way out. She was still sitting in her seat, pouting.

Unfortunately, I had seen this look SEVERAL times before. On some days - and there’s no way to determine when it will happen - Meg makes a very deliberate decision that she is not going to get out of the car willingly. I have to beg, threaten, pull on her, etc. to get her out and into the school. On this day, I had to get to work and there was a very long line of cars behind me full of people who could not progress without me getting out of the way. I never enjoy having to deal with this kind of behavior but I was absolutely not having it on this particular morning.

I told her very calmly but very firmly that we were not going to do this today and that she needed to get out of the car. She told me she was scared that I wouldn’t remember to pick her up from school. I told her that such a thing had never happened and would never happen.  She told me she was still scared.  I responded that she should be far more scared of what would happen to her if she didn’t get out of the car this instant.  Realizing her options, she slowly made her way over to the still open door with her head hung low. She hopped out and then immediately hopped back in.  With that, she had very firmly pressed her finger on the button that is my temper.

I began to become short of breath. My forehead began to sweat. Not only did I have a ton of cars behind me, but they had all now witnessed my child’s bratty behavior. I immediately raised my voice.

Meg, GET out of this car!

NOW!

She was shaking her head no.

NOW!!

I was getting louder and louder. She tucked her head again and made her big, sad eyes at me.

Meg, I’m not going to tell you again. DO NOT do this. Get OUT of the car!!!

She hopped out and hopped back in. One time she hopped out and just as she turned to face the school and I began closing the door and driving off, she ran back. I was stuck. I couldn’t drive off because I was scared I’d hit her.

MEG!!

MEG!!

STOP THIS!!!

Mama, I don’t want to go to school. I don’t want you to leave me. I’m scared.

MEG!!! YOU ARE NOT SCARED! You come here every day!

Nothing.

I’ve got tons of cars behind me and I’ve got to go to work! You’re making me and everyone else late!!!

Meg hops out and hops back in.

MEG!! QUIT ACTING LIKE THIS! YOU ARE TOO OLD TO BE ACTING LIKE THIS!

Meg hopped out and in a surprising reversal, didn't immediately hop back in. Was I making progress? Nope. Instead, she held onto door frame so that I still could not close the door or drive off.

MEG, GET IN THE SCHOOL RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!!

Hops back in the car.

MEG!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THIS CAR!!!

Wow. 

This is bad parenting on so many levels; it’s hard to know where to begin. Yes, I lost my temper. Yes, I yelled. And yes, I cussed at my six year old in anger - and using a word I had not ten minutes before said was “ugly” and “never appropriate”. I could see the fear on her face when that word came out of my mouth; all of the sweet moments that pass between us destroyed in a 15 second exchange because I couldn’t maintain my cool. She knows how to push my buttons and I know how to let it get the better of me. I yelled. I yelled and I cussed at my sweet baby who was scared I would forget her. I am the worst parent I know. And now I had created the added problem of having to explain to her later that even though I had used the word, it is not a nice word and she is never to use it. Kind of a “do as I say not as I do” kind of a thing; which does nothing but highlight what an enormous hypocrite I am.

You may be wondering if my outburst actually achieved anything. Did she get out of the car?  Well, yes, she did.

So then, yelling must work, right?  Has this kind of behavior in the carpool line happened again? 

You bet your ass it has.