The Parental Warning System

Remember when the federal government regularly issued color-coded terror-alert warnings? Remember how they toggled back and forth between the orange “high” and the red “severe” for years? It bugged me that the other colors never got their shot. And now, you never even hear about this system anymore. (Although we are currently in the yellow zone for “elevated” threat—don’t you feel better now?)

In case they’re going to be selling off the concept at a government-surplus store, or maybe a bake sale to raise money for health care, I’ve been thinking of a perfect use for those rainbow signs. We hardly have to make any changes--just swap in “parental irritation” for “terrorist attack” and we’re good to go.

I don’t want to make light of terrorism. Or bake sales. But it sure feels the security of my own homeland has a lot more to do with how well I can keep my patience with my kids when they’re asking me for the millionth time where their shoes are. 

More often than not, I lose my temper because I’m trying to do too many things at once. But sometimes, life with kids requires the simultaneous juggling of phone calls, boiling noodles and kittens. Orange and red days happen.

I once heard a mom say she’d never yelled at her child. Maybe that’s true. I wanted to ask her if she’d at least used her outside voice with him. And I thought about asking if she planned to donate her body to science after she was done with it, to see if there was something going on with her brain that made her immune to the stresses of child-rearing. Or maybe she just has really stiff vocal cords. I kept my mouth shut, though, because I didn’t want her to know she was so much better at this job than I am.

I lose my patience with my kids far more than I’d like to. When I was younger and more idealistic, I said I’d never yell, because my mom hollered at us a lot. It was necessary—we were on a swim team and she had to rouse the five of us out of bed at like 5:30 in the morning. One unforgettable morning, she came into my room and whispered, “It’s time to get up.” I thought she’d finally gotten the message that my teenage ears were sensitive, but no. She had laryngitis.

I feel horrible when I lose it. Especially because a wise friend once told me that our voices are the ones kids hear when they finally internalize their consciences. In my dreams, my children’s consciences will be me, whispering gently.

Reality, apparently, is a bit different.

Lucy’s table manners tend to bring out my loud voice. It was one thing seeing her with peanut butter on her forehead when she was a toddler. Now that she’s 9, this worries me. If she’s in a rush, she will stuff her cheeks to the Dizzy Gillespie point. And she’s never met a sleeve that she hasn’t turned into a napkin (even on velvet holiday dresses). At this rate, she’ll never be invited to dine with the Queen.

If this sounds petty to you, I invite you to come over to my house to get the stains out of her clothes. Also, Inventions Department? Please make me detachable napkin sleeves for all her shirts. The Sleevekin™: I’d buy it in bulk.

A friend and I went away last weekend. We both needed time get ourselves back in the green zone after a long, hot summer.

Adam kept me up to date on the kids’ activities, sending pictures and text messages. My favorite was his last. He’d taken the girls to the neighborhood bakery for donuts. They sat at a table on the sidewalk, enjoying the summer heat. Lucy spied a police officer and said, “Alice! Quick! Wipe your face! It’s the police!”

The best part? The officer heard and—perhaps predicting their future as delinquents—said, “I’ll be seeing you later, girls.” Then he went inside to get his own donut.

It seems Lucy has internalized my voice into her conscience, after all, and I apparently sound like a low-level street criminal on Law & Order. We have so drilled the concept of table manners into her that she believes there is, in fact, a prison for kids with frosting faces. At some point, she might even internalize the manners part.

Until then, I’ll keep working on my parental-alert warning system, and I’ll keep hoping for some green and blue days.

--Martha Brockenbrough

Comments

[Julie DeKoven]

That was very funny. You summed up a lot of things I feel. I have a Master's in Child Development, so when I lose my cool, I'm unprofessional! I thought I knew so much about how to raise happy, well-behaved children until mine didn't listen to me. I hear myself yelling, and I know it's not what I should be doing. Thank God, they love us anyway and hopefully we'll have lots of blue and green days!

[Michaela B]

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! Finally somebody admits to losing their temper - I always thought I was the only one, judging on advice on "how to keep calm when the going gets tough". As a mother of 3 kids, ages 6 and younger, I feel more often than not close to a nervous breakdown. Juggling a full-time job, housework and child rearing wears on everybody. Then add to that stubborn little people who have their own agenda, things might get tense! My husbands constantly reminds me (!!!) to lower my voice, not my children. But what is one to do if it seems that nobody is listening? How to get their attention? The green zone certainly seams to be out of reach until they are off to college.

[Kellee L]

I enjoyed this article because its not that far from the truth in my world either, being a mom of 3 boys I'm lucky to hear please and thank you. I'm glad to hear that I'm not alone

[Robbie]

Oh thank you so much. I was feeling really guilty about yelling at my son this morning for his habitual dilly-dalling that makes him late regularly for school. So glad I am not the only one. Hopefully after a better night's sleep I will be in the green zone tomorrow.

[Tara S]

Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me! And we're still struggling with table manners, too. I laughed out loud at your comment about dining with the queen - my tag line regarding manners is "What if you have dinner with the president someday?" Hah!

[Kim S]

This is a great article and one I totally feel in-sync with. I have had to raise my voice more times than I wish to count (especially with hard headed boys).