278 days without yelling, 87 days of loving more to go!

Dear Monday,

Why can’t you ever be nice to me? First you fill my house with tears, then you break my computer and then you break my dryer. Yes, I blame you for all those things because I feel like it. Harrumph.

A disgruntled Orange Rhino

*

Picture this. It’s Monday morning. Not just any Monday morning but one after a two week vacation from school and any routine really. Now add three over-tired kids because they don’t get daylight savings and one baby who likes to pick up everything and move it. Oh! And don’t forget the super high-strung mommy who didn’t sleep a wink because of her own nightmares. Okay. Can you see all the tears? Can you hear all the protests against going to school? Can you feel all the tension? If so, you were at my house this morning. It gets better.

260 days without yelling, 105 days of loving more to go!

Dear Hurricane Sandy,

Please blow over, no pun intended. I’ve been tracking you for days so that I can know what kind of problems you’ll bring, when to expect your wrath and what I need in order to handle the situation properly, or at least the best that I am able. All this tracking got me thinking back to the first days of this challenge when all I did was track. So while I know you are going to be a pain in my a*s the next few days I do thank you for inspiring tonight’s post and getting me to finally write it as it has been an idea lurking in my mind for months.

Cheers,
The Orange Rhino

*

The similarities to tracking a hurricane and tracking my triggers for yelling are pretty remarkable. I would track, track, track my triggers so that I could be prepared for my own storm path; so that I could know what problems would cause me to yell, when precisely I would yell, and what I needed to have in the future to be ready, mentally, in order to prevent major “storm” damage. Guess what? All the tracking? It really helped me prepare.

Yes, storms brewed in the early days. OH DID THEY EVER. I think I texted my friends five to seven times a day saying “I’m gonna lose it” and they would write back “No!! Don’t do it! You can hold it together!” But after a few days writing down all the times I yelled or wanted to yell, I saw patterns. I saw that I yelled at the same times of day. I saw that I yelled whenever I felt rushed. I saw that I yelled whenever I had my blackberry in hand, if I had just had a disagreement with my husband.

Were the findings discouraging? YES. Because there were a lot of areas of improvement and because there were a lot of findings that I never would have guessed, like how much a simple conversation about “weekend plans” with my hubby could put me in such a mood that I would yell at any child for no reason.

But just knowing the triggers, knowing that there were easy things I could now fix and yell less, like putting out snacks the night before, and knowing that there were things that I could personally CHANGE about me, well, you know what they say. Knowledge is power. This knowledge brought me clarity. It brought me a path. I don’t the technical, PhD. Study, formal rationale for why knowing a problem and labeling it makes it easier, but in this case, it did.

As I tracked more I found myself yelling less and texting my friends for support less.

Maybe it was as simple as seeing all the times I yelled on paper? Maybe that just was so ugly it really scared me and motivated me? (I know that works for me with weight loss – if I track what I eat for a week. WHOA NELLY. Suddenly I realize how bad I was and I get back on track.)

I don’t entirely know the answer for why tracking is such a powerful tool. Again, I am not a professional. I am just a mom trying to figure it all out. I don’t why tracking worked, but it did. It worked wonders – just like tracking and preparing for a Hurricane. I now know the storm is hitting tonight and I am prepared, as well as I can be. I have alcohol for after the long days (haha), I have caffeine for the long days (haha), I have canned goods, flashlights, water and more. I tracked, I got informed, and I am prepared. This storm will not take me by surprise and I am ready.

So tonight, in honor of Hurricane Sandy, I share with you my best attempt at a “professional” Trigger Tracking sheet. It is pretty close to what I wrote down and how I handle the information. I am a dork. These attachments will make that clear. But they helped me. They were integral to my figuring out how to stop yelling. Because once I looked at the “data” and could figure out a plan, I attacked each trigger one by one. And as I yelled less, I felt better. So I attacked 2 new triggers. And mastered those. And it just grew and grew and grew.

DOWNLOAD these two sheets below to see how I tracked my triggers and got on the path of not yelling!

Trigger Tracking Sheet Example (this is my best replica of what I wrote down in the beginning)

Trigger Tracking Sheet (a blank version if you want to print and try tracking yourself!)

254 days without yelling, 111 days of loving more to go!

Dear T.M.I.,

Did I just cross the line with this post? What can I say. It’s that time of month. I have P.M.S. big time and it takes over my ability to think rationally.

Not sincerely (because I don’t feel sincere or nice when I am suffering from P.M.S. I just feel grouchy and mean),

The Orange Rhino

P.S. My apologies in advance to male readers. I am not trying to offend you. Really.  

*

I remember being thirteen and seeing a button in Claire’s, the be all and end all of stores for teenage girls. The button read:

P.M.S. Putting up with Men’s Shit

I remember giggling and calling my girlfriends over from the tacky jewelry section to see the pearl of wisdom that I had found. Because you know at 13, after a mere few months of being in the womanhood club, not only was I cool enough to make jokes about PMS but I was cool enough to make jokes about boys being annoying. Because I understood them both perfectly. PMS and boys that is.

Fast forward 22 years. I am much wiser. Now I really understand both.

1)      P.M.S. only happens once a month, not weekly or daily, so it definitely does not stand for Putting up with Men’s Shit.

2)       P.M.S. actually means Pushing Me to Scream. Scientists and doctors and other professionals like to call it Pre-menstrual Syndrome. But that is too weak of a name. Pre-menstrual syndrome is too delicate, too polite, too nice. It doesn’t get at the heart of the matter, the intensity of what really happens to a woman during that blessed week each month.

Because, yes, 1 time a month, P.M.S makes me want to scream. The other three weeks a month I just want to yell. But that one lucky week a month when I am blessed with P.M.S I don’t want to just yell, I want to scream, scream, scream. Three weeks a month I have to work hard to not yell. But when I have PMS?

Oh. My. God.

I don’t think “working hard” begins to even describe my plight.

I have to practically hide from my kids to keep from yelling because every word sounds like a whine which this time of month sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I “have to eat” to keep my mouth full of Oreo cookies, Tostitos, Cheez-its and other crap just so that I can’t yell.

I have to constantly put my head in the freezer to put the hot flashes at bay, to keep my temper cool.

I have to wear extra loose clothes so that the feeling of tight pants, tight shirts, and a tight bra don’t drive me batty and put me on edge.

I have to do jumping jacks what feels like every friggin’ second to keep my aggression in check.

I have to go to bed way earlier than I like because my normal exhaustion coupled with my P.M.S exhaustion leaves me a wretched, crotchety person.

UGH. Like I said, P.M.S. makes me want to scream, literally and figuratively.

I love that 22 years ago I thought I totally got P.M.S. HA! If only I knew what a horrific pain in the arse it was I wouldn’t have been making jokes about it; I’d be figuring out how to get rid of it.

I still don’t have the answers that work for me (in regards to P.M.S. or to Men) but I do know this. When I finally started circling on my calendar on the days I was at my worst, the days where I practically screamed, that days where my tolerance was negative, the days where I snapped way more than I liked, I realized that my worst days were always P.M.S days.

I kind of never thought of P.M.S as a trigger. I never really took P.M.S. seriously until recently. I don’t know why. Maybe because it has been a part of my life for so long that I have kind of accepted it? Maybe I thought I handled it better than I actually do? Maybe because my 4^th pregnancy played with my system enough that it made P.M.S. come alive more ferociously? Maybe because I didn’t want to admit that this trigger would be with me for years and years on end?

But oh, oh is it ever a trigger (professionals even say so, which “kind of” makes me feel better). And these last few days? I totally blame PMS. The good news? Figuring out and acknowledging that my PMS week is going to be a hard week has helped. Because I start the week mentally prepared for extra challenge, prepared that I am going to have to work harder and somehow that makes it easier. Not manageable, but easier.

Now if only I could figure out how to not stuff my face when P.M.S.ing (she writes as she reaches for more M&M’s).

How do you handle P.M.S.? Please share all secrets!! Does laughter do it? This worked momentarily for me. Check out this video. It’s brilliant.

Written today, but should have been written sometime in January 2012. If I had had the guts then to completely admit to all that’s included below….

Dear Internet World,

My name is The Orange Rhino and I yell at my kids. A lot. A lot more than I like. A lot more than I ever imagined I would. I don’t yell at them ALL day (or everyday) but it kind of feels like it. And well, I am sure it definitely feels like it to my four boys. Because most of the time (again NOT all the time) when I yell, I don’t just yell, I YELLLLLL. I’m talking a full on screaming at the top of my lungs yell accompanied by one or all of the following: red face, shaking hands, screeching voice, eyes squeezed shut in sheer disbelief.

Photo: mymommymanners.com

I yell at them for leaving legos on the floor, for not hanging their jackets up, for putting their shoes right where I walk so that I trip.

I yell at them for pissing everywhere BUT in the toilet, for emptying half the bathtub on the floor, for spitting on the mirror during toothbrushing time.

I yell at them for hitting their brothers, for pretending to shoot each other with guns, for not stopping rough play when someone is crying.

I yell at them for complaining about what I serve for dinner, for throwing their food on the table if they don’t like it, for saying they aren’t hungry and then begging for food. 10 minutes after the meal is over.

I yell at them for playing instead of going to bed, I yell at them for getting out of bed too early, I yell at them for waking each other up in the morning.

I yell at them to hurry up and get out the door, to pee before getting in the car, to stop picking on each other while we wait in the car line at pick up.

I yell at them for begging me to put the TV on, for asking one more time to play with their LeapPad explorers, for pleading for more toys.

I yell at them for interrupting me when I am on the phone, for not stopping talking when I have said I need a break, for talking too loudly.

I yell at them for not saying please and barking orders at me, for calling their brothers mean words, for being fresh with me.

I yell at them for not keeping their hands to themselves in stores, for intentionally taking a toy from their brothers, for pushing each other.

I yell at them for temper tantruming for what feels like hours on end, for slamming doors when angry, for throwing toys on the ground and at me when they don’t get their way.

I yell at them for silly things, for serious things, and “you’re-just-being-annoying” things.

I yell at them when I have had enough of them not listening, when I am tired of being patient and empathetic, when I am overwhelmed with the challenges of parenting.

I yell at them when they are only being mildly annoying but I am cranky, or tired, or not feeling well, or anxious, or sad, or preoccupied, or busy, or just not in a good place.

Am I missing anything? I am sure I yell at them for a lot more. Because it looks like I CHOOSE to yell at them for just about everything and anything.

Oh, yes I did forget something.

I yell at them for yelling at me, for yelling in the house, for yelling at each other. Wait, I wonder where they learned to yell at me? To yell at each other?

Crap. They learned that from me.

Crap, I yell a lot. I lose my patience a lot. I forget they are just kids, just people, a lot. I don’t stop and question my expectations, a lot.  I get lazy and don’t try to find self control, a lot. I tell myself I am going to change, and then do nothing, a lot. I wish I could stop yelling, a lot.

Because yelling makes me feel really, really crappy, A LOT.

My name is The Orange Rhino and I am tired of being a yelling parent.

I am tired of being disappointed in myself for not keeping it together. I am tired of knowing that my yelling is hurting my kids’ feelings and probably doing some emotional damage too. I am tired of yelling and having it achieve nothing but making things worse. I am tired of not setting a good example for my kids. I am tired of getting on my kid’s cases for everything, for not letting them have a little more breathing room. I am tired of not putting the energy into finding a way to end my yelling. I am tired of saying “oh, I only yell on occasions, but when I do it is bad” when really, that is a lie. I am tired of going to bed (almost) every night feeling guilty and ashamed of how I treated my boys.

My name is The Orange Rhino and I am going to go 365 days straight without yelling. I make this big commitment because this nasty habit of mine needs to vanish not for a few days, but for life. I make this big commitment not just because I know I can do better and because I want to do better, but also because my kids deserve better.

(My name is The Orange Rhino and I DID go 365 days without yelling and I believe that you can too!)

227 days of not yelling, 138 days of loving more to go!

Dear Self,

You let the silliest things both you and tempt you to yell. Seriously, loosen up a bit, will ya?

The Orange Rhino

*

Every morning and every night I get agitated over the same thing: toothpaste on the bathroom counter and toothpaste spit all over the bathroom sink. But let me be clear, it isn’t just on the counter it is smeared all over and on good days, it is dripping of the sides of the “used” toothbrush so that the toothbrush leaves a nice mark wherever it sits. Oh, and the spit isn’t just in the sink, some of it has accidentally “sprayed” on the mirror. And the wall. Perhaps on the toilet seat too because wouldn’t it be fun to spit into the toilet? It looks like a sink you know. Yeah, once my kids have brushed their teeth unsupervised the bathroom smells minty fresh and looks freshly “decorated.” I. CAN’T. STAND. IT.

And every morning and every night it makes me want to yell at my older two sons.

And every morning and every night, and especially right now, I think to myself, really?? Really you are going to yell at your kids over toothpaste?

Yes, it is messy and sticky and one more thing to clean up.

Yes, it is frustrating that no matter how many times I remind them to wipe down the counter and rinse the sink when done, they still forget.

Yes, it is maddening that it seems they have no regard for being neat and tidy or respectful of my wishes to use proper “bathroom etiquette.”

Yes, it is annoying to have to make extra trips to CVS just to buy more toothpaste because of the constant waste (because no kid in my house every squeezes just a little toothpaste on the toothbrush.)

But no, the great toothpaste fight really isn’t worth yelling at my kids.

Because they are 6 and 4.5 and are still learning.

But more so, as I finally realized this morning as I wiped down the counter again for the umpteenth time, they are actually doing something RIGHT and I should focus on that behavior and applaud it instead of ridiculing the inconvenient behavior.

Without my having to ask, they are not only remembering to brush their teeth but also actually doing it! ON THEIR OWN! This is miraculous! Worthy of a celebration even! It took me months of reminding them to get to that point. Months! My older boys brushing their teeth on their own is so incredibly helpful; it is one less thing that I have to remember to ask them to do and let’s face it, I need all the help I can get!  And not only is it good for me, but it is good for them. Brushed teeth = less cavities, something my mouthful of cavities (and Novocaine from having a crown put in today) is really wishing I had remembered to do when I was a kid!

So as I grumbled under my breath this morning about the mess, I decided to let go of the great toothpaste fight. I decided to embrace the good behavior and stop harping on the bad. I decided to accept that it will take months for them to remember to clean up after themselves and that is okay. I decided to focus my energy on bigger problems, bigger annoyances.

I decided that it is really no big deal to have to take 5 seconds to wipe down the counter and 5 more seconds to gently remind the boys the etiquette of tooth brushing. Taking 10 seconds is a heck of a lot more convenient than locking up the toothpaste in my bathroom and having to go get it and then monitor their brushing while I have two tired younger brothers pulling at my leg for one more book. Taking 10 seconds to set an example and teach is a heck of a lot better for my kids than telling them “no, you can’t do this on your own because you make a mess.” Taking 10 seconds after they have already brushed their teeth, which is a huge accomplishment, is WAY better than spending hours in the dentist’s office in the next years if they didn’t brush their teeth because mommy was too swamped at bedtime to hound them to do it.

Yeah brushing their teeth on their own and making a mess is WAY better than the alternatives.

Besides, they will get it someday. It might be when they move in with a fiancee 20 or so years from now, and she has the same pet peeve, but they’ll get it. And until then, I’ll just keep on gently reminding them to clean up.

226 days without yelling, 139 days of loving more to go!

Dear Nerves,

Whenever you find me, you take over my entire being and make me an absolute b*tch! You are one of my worst triggers for yelling. Could you do me a favor? Could you either stop invading my body or send me a manual on how to handle you? I would be most appreciative. So would my boys. I am much more pleasant when I am not nervous!

Warmest Regards,
The Orange Rhino

*
There are several “yells at my kids” that I cannot shake from my memory, like this one. I think it is so “memorable” because it is exactly what I didn’t want to achieve that day. 

I was 36 weeks and 6 days pregnant with number four. It was potentially my last night as a mom of three kids and I wanted it to be special and perfect because I knew once #4 came, I would be even more exhausted, more cranky, more busy than I had been the last 8.5 months. I wanted to have one last hurrah with my three boys. I wanted to take them out for a fun dinner where they got all my undivided attention. I wanted to laugh and joke with them. I wanted to have fun with them. I wanted to snuggle them into bed feeling secure that when #4 comes, they will still be as important as ever even if they didn’t feel like it because lots of my energy was going into caring for their new baby brother. Oh how I wanted to shower them with hugs, and kisses, and lots of love that night.

But I didn’t. Instead I showered them with impatience, intolerance and lots of yelling.

All because I was anxious.

and scared.
and tired.
and frustrated.
and disappointed.
and grumpy.
and short tempered.

I was all sorts of not positive emotions.
In fact, I was EVERY EMOTION but what I wanted to be that night.

All because the next morning I was headed to the hospital to try and flip #4 out of breech position. I had three natural deliveries and was terrified of a C-section if he didn’t flip, terrified of recovering from a C-section with three older boys at home, terrified of the potential of an emergency delivery at 37 weeks as a result of the procedure, terrified of feeling disappointed if my last delivery was a C-section and not the delivery I wished for, terrified of having a baby NOW when I wasn’t mentally ready, when the house was still under construction and so not ready to welcome a baby.

I wanted SO BADLY for the procedure to go well. I wanted SO BADLY to have special time with my boys just in case I did deliver tomorrow. So much so that I was an absolute mess b*tch!

And it came out in the form of yelling.

“KNOCK IT OFF #1!”

“DAMMIT, #2 WHY CAN’T YOU LISTEN?!”

“BE QUIET #3! USE YOUR WORDS!!!”

Oh, I yelled most of the day. It was AWFUL. Absolutely awful. And then came dinner. We couldn’t go out to Friendly’s as planned which just added more disappointment to my list, further fueling my mood. So we brought it home.

I opened the styrofoam containers which had trapped in the steam from the once hot food.

The boys started eating.

“My food is soggy.”

“Icky.”

“I didn’t want macaroni and cheese.”

It was my turn to complain. But I did more than complain. I SCREAMED at the top of my lungs so much so that my hands shook and my face turned bright red.

“GOD DAMMIT KIDS! All I wanted was a nice peaceful and special meal before tomorrow and you’re ruining it! Absolutely ruining it! ”

They stopped complaining and all simultaneously burst into tears, my then 5 year old telling me that I was the meanest, worstest mommy ever.

My heart sank. I was mortified and ashamed and OH SO INCREDIBLY SAD.

They weren’t the ones ruining dinner, I was.

The pressures of my current situation had absolutely gotten to me and I had taken it too far on a day when all I wanted were loving moments, when all my boys NEEDED were loving moments. I felt so disappointed in myself. So disappointed in the lost moments that day. So disappointed that they might wake up tomorrow and be with the babysitter and without me for three days and their most recent memory would be of mommy screaming at them like a lunatic.

Oh the guilt at that moment at me alive.

“Oh boys, I am SO SORRY. Mommy is just so stressed and I lost it. I am so very sorry. I love you so much.”

We eventually cleaned up from dinner and made it up to bedtime. As bad as losing it was, it did whip me into the emotional place I wanted to be pretty quickly. Patience found me, helping me to have the bedtime I wanted: a slow, peaceful, loving half an hour. We chatted longer during bath time, we cuddled longer over story time, we snuggled longer during tuck-ins to bed. I let everything go a little longer that night. I cherished everything a little bit more. And it was wonderful.

I didn’t get the day I wanted, but I did get the bedtime I wanted, that I so desperately needed. I had found the strength to FINALLY get a hold of my behavior; I had found the strength to FINALLY rise above the pressure. And I was proud of myself.

I think #4 was too. En route to the hospital the next morning he did one really big (and painful!) fist pump in the air and flipped into position. Not only did I get to have the natural delivery I wanted, but I also got to go home to my boys and try again for a fun-filled, loving day before #4 arrived. And I got it. Times 13.