The art of yelling

Neither of my parents were really yellers, so it really surprised me that I turned out to be one. After a lot of thinking, analyzing, and some really, really good therapy, I think I've figured it out. I yell when I feel like I'm not being heard. Which, if you have been reading my blog entries for any length of time, you know that's one of my biggest pet peeves and henceforth a trigger.

So, today it was almost time for T to come home from school. I was trying to convince S to go outside and ride her bike before it got really hot. She announced that she needed a diaper change. When I helped her to lie down on the floor, she put her hand under her body then pulled it back out covered in...well, you can imagine. Oh crap. Pardon the pun.

Trying to get S to hold still when she actually needs to is about as productive as sweeping a doorstep in the middle of a sandstorm. So, when I asked her very calmly to be really still, she immediately puts her hand on the carpet, on her leg, on her face, and in her hair. So guess what was on the carpet, on her leg, on her face and in her hair. Yep. With the damage already done, I tried to keep the damage to a minimum. I was not successful. What IS it with this kid and poop? I did not have these issues with T.

By the time I get her bottom cleaned up, the rest of her clothes off, and her hand mostly wiped off, I'm really irritated because I've been repeating, "Please hold still, please don't move" for like 5 minutes. I'm trying really hard not to raise my voice. Really, really hard. The garage door is open and the door leading into the garage is open since T should be home any second. I tell S that we need to go wash her hands with soap, and she heads into the kitchen to wash her hands. The step stool is in the bathroom, so I try to direct her there. She's having none of it, and she's standing naked in the doorway to the garage wanting to go outside. Nekkid. Not going to happen. Plus, there's poo in her hair and she's not exactly smelling like roses. We have a doctor's appointment this afternoon, and I'd really rather not take her smelling like that. So as I try to guide her to the bathroom, she begins to scream and cry meanwhile touching everything within her reach with her dirty hand. Really? REALLY?

I finally get her to the bathroom to help her wash her hands, and as I'm scrubbing her hands, she's still wailing like a tornado siren. Doors are still open. If anyone happened to walk in, they would see a naked, screaming, crying, smelly three year old, a very red faced and angry me, and a lot of uh...places that were in serious need of a Lysol wipe. I'm guessing that wouldn't look so great in a child services investigation.

T comes home in the middle of the ruckus, and immediately realizes he doesn't want any part of this. Smart kid. I ask S to go upstairs to the bathroom so I can give her a bath, and even though she does what I ask, my frustration level did not decrease. I've got a huge spot on the carpet to scrub and a bunch of places that S touched that still needed to be cleaned. When I walk into the bathroom five seconds after her, she's standing by the toilet which T forgot to flush this morning getting ready to reach into it.

And that was all she wrote folks. I yelled. I yelled at S for wanting to play in pee and for not holding still and I yelled at T for not flushing the toilet - again. It did not make me feel better. It did not improve my relations with S whatsoever. It was completely unproductive, and I didn't feel better at all. Sigh. However - 15 minutes later when she threw a fit over not getting to wear the shirt she wanted (which I was washing as we spoke) I did not yell. I just got up and walked away. S screamed for a few more minutes, then all was quiet. When I went to check on her, she had put herself to bed for a nap. Hmmmm...........