I've always kind of wondered if Dave is
even actually angry when he yells at Alvin or if he's just learned
that yelling is the only effective way to cut through Alvin's obvious
lack of focus and make himself heard. For me, while I do yell
at my children about things that would legitimately enrage
most parents (i.e. spilling an entire carton of juice all over the
table and the floor – more than once in a day,
feeding carefully prepared meals to the dog, using the crayon Mom
doesn't know is in the car to create modern scribble art all over the
back side windows) I'm really almost never legitimately enraged when
I raise my voice. I do it more for the shock value than anything.
When you're raising small children,
that moment of pure, frozen shock immediately following what the
wayward child perceives as an entirely unprovoked parental outburst
is priceless... and fleeting. In this moment, you can turn
almost any situation to your advantage.
This is a point perhaps best
illustrated through example:
Mom enters the kitchen to find the two
children that just seconds ago she left sitting at the table quietly
sipping from their cups of milk, now doing something different
entirely. The oldest child, Logan, is blowing increasingly large
bubbles in his milk, smiling happily to himself each time one of his
bubble geysers spouts high enough to overflow the sides of the cup,
affixing itself to either the table or his shirt. His partner in
crime, Julianne, having not yet figured out the exact mechanics of
simulated geothermal activity, has settled for attempting to plunge
her entire hand into a cup that may be
just barely large
enough to accommodate it... were it not filled at least halfway to
the top with milk. As it is, this process causes surprisingly (and
evidently disappointingly) little milk to actually overflow the cup,
but it does present the opportunity for a new activity: Using the
drips from the milk-covered hand to paint a lovely lactose fresco on
the recently polished surface of the table. Just
as Ms. Washa-Pollock is adding the final strokes to her masterpiece,
her brother, Old Cupful, pauses to take notice of the fact that a
group of feline tourists have appeared to observe the spectacle and
lend a paw in clearing the path of liquid destruction.
Mom walks in quietly, unassumingly, and makes a calm and composed request, “We don't play in the milk, we drink it. Please get paper towels and clean up your mess.” Mom then turns her back, commences scrubbing a large pan, and the milk chaos resumes. Calmly placing the finished pan into the dish drainer, Mom turns around, notes that her request has been ignored, and with slightly more force, renews it, “Don't. Play. In. The Milk. Milk is for drinking. Only. If you do not wish to drink your milk, then please put your glasses in the refrigerator and you can have them later.” Mom leaves the room in order to begin scooping up the myriad of toys that have been haphazardly dumped in the doorway and that are now all but barracading everyone in the kitchen. When she turns around to check on her little ones... well I'll leave you to imagine what she sees.
That's
that then. Mom storms into the kitchen eyes flashing, finger
pointing, loud enough to scare the felines into abandoning a
perfectly lovely and unexpected midday meal. “WOULD YOU TWO LOOK
AT THIS HORRIBLE MESS!” (It's actually not that bad.) “I HAVE
NEVER SEEN ANYTHING SO DISGRACEFUL!” (Today alone I've seen messes
worse than this one.) “THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I'VE ASKED YOU TO
CLEAN UP THIS MESS, AND THAT ISN'T EVEN COUNTING WHEN I ASKED YOU TO
PLEASE NOT MAKE
A MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE! I'M GOING IN THE LIVING ROOM TO CHANGE
THE BABY'S DIAPER AND WHEN I COME BACK I HAD BETTER NOT SEE ANY MORE
MILK ANYWHERE!
As
Mom makes her dramatic exit from the kitchen, leaving the startled,
suddenly motionless, speechless children to begin their frantic
scramble for paper towels, she notices the pile of toys still
blocking the kitchen door, and pounces on that opportunity like a
gatto on leche (cat on milk; the kids love
Spanish). Without missing a beat, she fires back over her shoulder,
“AND PICK UP THESE TOYS BEFORE SOMEONE FALLS AND CRACKS THEIR HEAD
OPEN AGAIN!” (I know exactly what you're thinking. 'Oh my!
Again? How many times has this happened? How many times can
a person crack his/her head open without incurring permanent brain
damage?' The answer: I have no idea because unless you count the
time a few months ago when Julianne fell flat on her face and damaged
a couple of her front teeth, which I don't, this has never actually
happened. Sure gets 'em movin' though, because really who wants to
be responsible for an injury like that? Again.)
If
you recall having watched the Chipmunks as a child, you'll probably
also recall that Dave's total count of meltdowns per episode is never
less than one. Dave hollers at Alvin twice in the slightly over two
minute long Chipmunk Christmas Song alone, but if you look at the
Chipmunk “family” overall, the kids are happy and well-adjusted,
and overwhelmingly Dave is kind, patient, and accomodating, yelling
only when he needs to for the purpose of retaining order. And once
he's accomplished the challenging and ongoing goal of gaining Alvin's
attention, he quiets back down and proceeds with the task at hand.
The same can be said, I believe, of the situation at our house.
Most
of the time, the kids and I maintain a positive, fun relationship
occasionally interspersed with a little yelling and time out, but
when I have to make negative comments I try to keep them to the
situation. For example, “Look at this horrible mess! I have never
seen anything so disgraceful!” as opposed to “You two are so bad!
You made a mess again because all you can ever do is disappoint me.”
The mess is bad, the behavior is bad, but always
the children are good. They just need a little reminder of what good
looks like every now and then.
Christmas
Christmas Time Is Here....
