March 14, 2004

• Yell.

  
  

  I must not shout at my daughters.
  I must not shout at my daughters.
  I must not shout at my daughters.
  I must not shout at my daughters.
  I must not shout at my daughters.

  
  

  It's Sunday night, and once again, here I sit, paralyzed with remorse over what can only be described as a "shouting fit". On this case, it was occasioned by my whiny eldest, who'd been an absolute pill all day - whinging  yet again about dropping her 'Mary Kate and Ashley' ring under the bed. What was making me squirm? How about screaming "Good! Those girls are idiots and stupid and you should be playing with that fucking ring when you are supposed to be a-fucking-sleep anyway!"

  
  

  Just a mere hour earlier, I was a poster child for Perfect Parents. The same child was howling inconsolably because she'd bumped her lip on her sister's head (don't ask, I didn't) and had cut it. About two specks of blood were dribbling down her chin. Her lip swelled and this was the excuse not eat anything that I had lovingly (okay, grudgingly) prepared for dinner. All this heartbreak delivered in a tone that would send grown men shrieking into the wilderness to become hermits and at a decibel that rivalled Snoop Doggs. F.U.C.K. But I surprised myself, I really did - I just softened up and cut her some slack.

  
  

  And the other one was glaring at me while spitting out anything that was placed in her mouth. This, the same child, who cannot leave me alone for a second, who has redefined the hoary old image of a woman with a child clinging to her skirts, was giving me the 'fuck you' look. I like this kid too, enough to endure a little shadow 12 hours out of 24, and to laugh off the puke in my hair. But not enough to take the 'fuck you' look. And I was being reasonably cool about it.

  
  

  But then, didn't we both pay for all that good loving likable  great mother time later?

  
  

  Blah, blah blah... the whining, the wailing, the ring. I went purple practically. She dived under the covers so fast she left vapour trails.

  
  

  Okay, so I know I was feeling put upon all day, and I know that I ignored all the indications that I was going to blow unless things went perfectly from that point on. I know all that. And I still growled at her. Honestly,  I don't want to be that kind of mother. Hell, I don't even want to be that kind of person. If I snarled that kind of invective at an adult, they'd either punch my head in, or call the cops.

  
  

  So it's totally self serving and hypocritical of me to do it. And I hate it when I do. But I try not to whack the kids, and I guess that shouting is my version of a short sharp slap to the behind. I don't want to debate the whole spanking issue, because I'll tell you right now that there have been a few times in Mouse's life where she got spanked. And not one of them was because she was running out into traffic or talking to strange men. But I hated myself when I did that as well - it was all about me wanting to let off some steam on the nearest available body - nevermind that it was usually the culpable one. It was mostly about me - I wasn't  teaching her anything. Well, I supposed I was, I taught her that she can't whack her baby sister, but it's perfectly okay for me to whack her. I can't see that making sense to her too much longer - she's a bright kid. So I desperately try not to spank and I am pretty successful. Maybe.

  
  

  I yell, figuring it's the lesser of two evils. I've tried explaining, I've tried 'time outs' I've tried 1-2-3 . Lett me tell you, if you write a book about it, I'll read it. I know she's spirited and I love that about her. But she also has to live with me, and her father and her sister - and she needs to learn the rules.

  
  

  
  

  1. No whinging, whining or snottiness. If you are like this, you must be in bed, even if it means you are there all day.
  2. No hitting or otherwise harming your sister.
  3. No hitting your mum and dad. Should you be foolish enough to do so, a mighty wind shall befall you and your world will disappear.
  4. Don't interrupt.
  5. Tantrums will be laughed at, and Mummy will sing the 'jump up and down like circus clown' song until you stop. If you go subsonic, you shall be placed in your room, and Mummy will turn up Metallica to drown you out. So. give. up.
  6. Eat your dinner, failing that, eat enough of it that you aren't hungry, and don't hold your nose and yell 'it's stinky'.
  7. Let old folks on the bus first.

  
  

  So see? It's not that bad. And written like that, it's certainly not worth shouting about. Or smacking. Or getting hot about, there's plenty of time and plenty of time to practice all of that. In short, there isn't one damn thing on that list that should make me feel as bad as I do right now. All for just trying to get through the day. She's a kid, she is still learning all of this stuff. She's still learning about all of it.

  
  

  Me too.

  
  

  Sometimes, even when you don't realise it, parenting sucks.

  • 4:02 am
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