There are four of them; four against one (not counting the better half), ages 10, eight, six and three. It is distressing to realize, nearly all civility is gone in my dealings with them -- I am a "Mom Who Yells." They in turn, yell at each other -- a direct reflection of me -- which then prompts me to sternly say, "If you can't speak to each other like human beings, then please do not speak to each other at all." Where does that leave me? Can I parent effectively in silence? Would what I do now qualify as "effective parenting"??
They have learned, polite words spoken at a normal decibals to not require action on their part; an escalation in both tone and volume still doesn't impart a sense of urgency; it is strictly top-of-my-lungs-you-are-not-going-to-be-happy-with-the-outcome-wait-till-your-father-comes-home that gets them moving. Even then, it only lasts as long as my voice echos in the room; as soon as I am quiet and have turned my back, they move back to their starting positions. Perhaps I fall short on the 14th troop leading step: Supervision. Assign the task and provide plenty of feedback and supervision. If I skip this step, I find I yell less. However, I make up for it upon my return to the scene, when I discover nothing of what I asked has been done. At least my Marines had the courtesy of giving me the impression they were doing what they were supposed to be doing, allowing me to rest in blissful ignorance for a little while. This clan won't even give me that.
Do I expect too much? I am continually baffled by the little things......who didn't flush the toilet? Whose socks are these on the kitchen counter? Is there some reason why every light in the house is on at 9 a.m.? Is it really that difficult to take the clothes I have washed and folded and transfer them from the bed to a drawer? Whose wet towel is this on the floor? I simply can't keep up. In reality, we are six against one -- I have to fight my own inclination towards entropy -- and I just can't keep up. Part of the equation is, I don't want to. Every thing I do here, I do against my will. It's like walking uphill in a windstorm blowing downhill.
One more thing to add to my list of "Things I Find Distressing."
Our latest snowstorm is what prompted this, my second blog entry. School was cancelled today, the sun is shining, the snow is fresh, the cul-de-sac unplowed; perfect conditions for playing. Eight and six (both boys), after some loud prompting, got themselves dressed. Six needed a little help, but he was 95 percent there on his own. Miss Three was distracted by the butterfly balloon she got at the Daddy-Daughter dance last night; forgivable, as she is only three. I expect to spend the bulk of my time getting her bundled up. Daughter Ten meanwhile, sat around. Every time I "suggested" she get dressed, she said she was waiting for me to help her put on her sock. She kicked her Dad's bag last night (he had to leave on business) and split the nail on her big toe.....OK, fine. "Put a band-aid on it"; ten minutes. "Get your snowpants and boots"; ten more minutes. In between, she sat there, looking helpless. In the end, I put on her sock; I zipped her snowpants; I put on her gloves; I put on her neck gater; I fixed the boots, zipped the jacket, kicked her out the door. Holy Cow!! I spent more time with her than with Miss Three. Why? Because I didn't want to turn around an hour later and find her still in the process of getting dressed; because I wanted her outside and out of my hair; because I wanted to save myself the effort and ensuing anger that would have come from forcing her to do it herself.
I'm still angry though, so I'm not sure from what exactly I saved myself.
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