Monday, August 24, 2009
My 4 year-old ratted me out yesterday. While getting ready for church N and I had a conversation that escalated into an argument involving some loud talking and perhaps some emphatic door closing. (We yelled. We slammed a couple of doors. (I won.)) Anyhow, when we arrived at church K-2 promptly informed Gramma that we had a fight. We're yellers. I yell at the TV when the Yankees are killing or being killed. N yells at traffic, as do Thing 1 and Thing 2. I yell at myself when I whack my finger with a hammer (rare occurrence). K-1 yells at K-2 to stop singing, which she is always doing. "STOP SINGING BK - STOOOOOOP!!!" She never stops. She doesn't even hear him, which leads to, what?, more yelling. K-2 doesn't yell so much as shriek or squeal, depending on her mood, hairstyle, whether N has selected shorts or a skirt, she can't button her shorts or skirt, or whether she's hungry.
We're passionate people. There is no line of which we are not firmly planted on one side or the other. Choose a side. Take a stand. Stand up and be counted. The irony here is that we are intensely private people, and are loathe to ask for help (or permission), seek council, or just talk (unless we're giving a talk, in which case we open up like a cheap pinata).
The thing is, mostly, I'm ok with this. No one in this house goes along to get along, and as the kids get older I want them to be more like this; to follow their own intuition and not some other loud mouth with mommy (or daddy) issues, or a lecherous uncle, or no common sense. I'll admit we can do a better job of picking our battles, but I'm proud we put up a fight. And hopefully when K-1 and K-2 are in the lone and dreary world they'll know there is a line, and that they have to take a stand.