I remember many things from my childhood. I remember my parents always being kind to me. They were always understanding and I don’t really have lots of negative memories from when I was young. There were a few times my father lost his temper at me, every time of which I deserved. Today I don’t remember what the topics were other than poor grades on a report card, but there would be an argument of some sort, my mother (who is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known) would be unhappy but not overly mad. My father would talk to me in an angry, disappointed tone about what I’d done or not done while my mother would agree and support him. I usually got defensive or lied or pushed back against them and at some point when I’d pushed things too far, my father would grab me by the arm and whap me once on the backside while he yelled at me explaining that was quite enough.
That was a big message. My father never did that unless I’d really been asking for it. The spank, which hurt my pride, never my body, wasn't wasted on me on me. Afterwards I always felt contrite about my behavior—after I’d gotten done crying and having my mother console me.
Other than that, I don’t remember my parents really yelling at me. Actually, I think they did, but it wasn’t often and it was usually for cause. Which is one of the reasons I’m so upset at how things are going in our family. My husband is also one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He rarely loses his temper, but I see him getting frustrated with the children and he’s yelled at them too. Maybe it’s because they pushed him that far as well, but I fear he’s gotten some of his quick-tempered behavior as a result of how I deal with the children—because as much as I don’t like it, that’s what I’m like.
My husband and aren’t cruel and I don’t think we’d be considered abusive by any stretch of the imagination. I just think there has to be a better way. We’re working now on ways to address certain behaviors from the children. I’ve got a much lower tolerance level with them right now. I’ve gotten very angry at them several times since we’ve returned from vacation when I posted my very down, “I might be giving up” post. When I have, I’ve been very clear certain things won’t be tolerated. I think I’ve gotten through to them, even if it was through yelling. This almost seems counter-intuitive, but the interesting thing is, the reduction in tolerance/flexibility/understanding has made an impact for the positive already. The children know I’m serious. They know I’m done putting up with pushback—of any kind. They’ve seen me get very, very angry when they’ve pushed me and they’ve understood exactly what they’re doing that’s resulting in me getting vocally firm with them. And we're getting results.
Maybe my husband and I have been inconsistent, something we try not to do, but maybe we’re not doing a good job. Maybe we’ve been unintentionally letting them get away with small things like not getting shoes on the first, second or third time we’ve asked them to because we know children are distracted and getting shoes on isn’t a high priority for then because they aren’t in a hurry to get to wherever it is on time. That’s one example, but it’s a good one. It’s not a zero tolerance household, but it’s a much lower tolerance one right now. My hope is we can get better behaviors from them because they know there isn’t much give in things when we state our expectations. Because I don’t want to be that parent who yells at their children all the time.
That’s not at all what I was going to write about when I wrote the title at the top of this post, so let me get myself back on track and talk about my childhood and some memories I have.
At our house now, when the children get up in the morning they come to our room. The dog’s pen is in there and their iPads are on a charging station in there and we’re in there as well so it’s the logical place to go. Typically they’ll come in and start talking to whichever parent is woken up by their arrival. That parent is usually me. My husband stays up later and is tired in the mornings. I commonly have to remind the children several times to keep their voices low because their father is sleeping. They seem to have no volume control at all.
There are questions and discussions about breakfast and the dog and who is going to take her out (my very capable blind daughter loves that job). As I was talking to the children two mornings ago I was reminded of what it was like at my parent’s house when I was a child. I remembered my father, also a good sleeper and how I would come into my parents room and talk to the parent who woke up and answered me. I have memories of my father in my parent’s bed, sprawled out, face down, dead asleep.
Mornings in my house involved my mother waking me up and then getting me breakfast at the cutting board in the kitchen. They had a little pull-out cutting board at the edge of the counter by the kitchen door. They also had a yellow tall chair with a foot stool that hinged out from underneath it that was just the right height to pull up to that cutting board. My mother would get me breakfast, pull out the cutting board, pull up the chair, put the food down and then would go back to get ready for work.
Things are fuzzy though because my childhood spanned across many years. I know my father would sleep later than my mother. I don’t know if this was because he needed less time to get ready for work or if his work started later. Back then there wasn’t flex time or working from home. He travelled around the state some of the time but a lot of the time he headed into an office downtown. My mother would drive me to school and then go to work from there. There was carpooling with some of the neighbors who also went to the same school she’d bring along as well.
I remember my father sleeping soundly while my mother and I got ready in the adjacent bathroom. My mother would put on makeup and I would try to get the tangles out of my hair (when she made me). I remember watching my mother put on her makeup, but at a mirror that’s there today, after they redid the bathroom. That’s one of the fuzzy parts. I remember her at a counter that wasn’t there at the time but my memory has been modified because I can barely remember the bathroom in its original configuration.
I do remember my father speaking very little in the mornings because he wasn’t a morning person. Now, my father is up early, working in his office on his computer, but back then he slept in whenever he could. On the weekends I remember getting up and watching weekend cartoons while they slept in to what was probably only nine o’clock, but back then it seemed like they were sleeping very late.
I remember a lot of things from my childhood, but so many of them are blurred even as I play back things in my mind now, because of how things changed over the years in our house. I’m forty-eight years old and my parents have lived in the same house since before I was born. A lot has happened in that time: changes in furniture, redecoration of different areas of the house, the finishing off of the basement and addition of a bathroom on that lower level. But the memories seem fluid and without conflict in my mind.
Back to the yelling though. Or not yelling, or how my parents parented me as a child. I have happy memories of my entire childhood. I know that from all the things I do remember, blurred as the memories are. I want to have a happy family. Or maybe the better word would be, ‘harmonious’. I want my children to think back on their youth and remember it positively, not one where they were always getting into trouble. I don’t want them to tell their children, “your grandmother yelled at me all the time, I don’t ever want to do that to you.”
This was a zig-zagging post. That’s how my mind works sometimes, jumping from one thought to a connected second though and then to another, related thought and then back to the initiating thought. I like thinking back on my childhood though, remembering all the things that made me into the person I am today. I hope my children will have positive memories of their childhoods too.
The Big Boy Update: Aunt Margaret came with me to pick up my son from school today. He knew she and Uncle Jonathan were coming over to spend time with his sister today but we had told him we weren’t sure if they would still be at our house when he got home from school. When he got in the car to come home and realized Margaret was in the car, he bounded forward to give her a big hug. He’s my sweet boy.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Today Aunt Margaret and Uncle Jonathan came over to the house to play games, read to, and just spend time with my daughter. She was excited to have two of her favorite adults come play exclusively with her. They played Chutes and Ladders and Fortnite Monopoly with her. She was so happy to have them there, spending a day just with her. She got a little bossy though and didn’t want to give Margaret a break for a glass of water. She would be playing with them still if they were still here. I told Margaret and Jonathan they were hired and I’d see them at nine in the morning. My daughter would love nothing more.
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