The “official” no-yelling challenge may be over, but there’s still the daily challenge of dealing with life’s frustrations. One of the first things you’re supposed to do on the Orange Rhino program is identify the triggers that make you want to yell. I discovered a few of mine today:

When I have to repeat myself repeatedly. Sometimes it’s my fault for not speaking clearly enough; sometimes they’re just not listening. But either way, having to say the same thing two or three or four times really irks me.

When the kids lose things at school. Three of Justin’s water bottles went astray this week alone. We’ve lost gloves, jackets, lunch bowls, and in one case an entire change of clothes (don’t ask). At one point we were doing a daily trip to the lost and found. Argh.

When the kids make a mess in the bathroom. I live with boys. Enough said.

These things all tested my resolve today, but I did manage to hold it together (clenching your teeth and cursing under your breath don’t count, right?) I think I need the pressure of public scrutiny to keep me on track, though, so I might keep blogging about my progress. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride…

Today marks the end of the challenge I set for myself: one full week with no yelling. It was always an artificial deadline, though. It’s not like I’m going back to yelling on day 8.

I asked the kids what they thought of my performance this week, and they gave me the thumbs-up. I explained that even though the challenge was over, we’re still going to try not to yell, because it’s so much nicer when people don’t shout at each other. Brayden pointed out that yelling hurts his ears and makes him cry; if I needed any extra motivation, that was it.

Things I’ve learned this week:

Clapping works better than yelling. Remember how I was searching for a more visual way to get Justin’s attention? I found it: clapping. Last night at supper the boys were getting louder and louder as they tried to talk over each other. The old me would have screamed at them to be quiet, but this time I did a single clap really hard in front of them. They immediately went quiet. I’ve used this technique a few times this week (one time while they were shouting I just kept clapping until they stopped), and it seems to work. It’s brilliant, not least because the physical act of smashing something together helps me vent some of the want-to-yell energy.

My kids can be my keepers. Admitting my flaws to the world was tough, but admitting them to my boys was a whole different level of hurt. We all try to be omnipotent as parents, but showing my kids that I, too, need to work on my behavior lets them know that it’s not just children that need to change. And by getting them involved in my challenge, by having them keep me accountable, I was extra motivated to reach my goal.

Life is always a work in progress. We’re all human. We all make mistakes. I’m committed to not yelling at the boys anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’ve suddenly become perfect angels, or that I will never have another lapse. But when mistakes happen, we apologize and move on. I need to remember that my kids are still learning how to handle being angry or frustrated — and monkey see, monkey do.

Lots of parents can relate to what I’m doing. I’ve been amazed and gratified to see the following this blog has developed this week. So many people I meet tell me they’ve been reading along, and thinking they should try this challenge themselves. I knew for a long time that I yelled too much, but I never wanted to admit that to anyone else, so I never really committed to change. I was afraid of being judged by smug, self-righteous parents who have always known better than to yell. I had no idea how supportive and encouraging people would be. Many, many thanks to all my loyal readers — you made my task so much easier.

This week started as a quest not to yell at my kids, but it quickly morphed into not yelling, period. And now that I have gone five straight days without yelling (I’m taking a Mulligan on that little lapse the other night), I have to say: wow, what a difference.

It’s not just that I’m not yelling. It’s that I’m not letting anger get to me nearly as much. I’ve consciously decided not to be so quick-tempered, and it’s leading to a better sense of harmony.

Take last night: Chris and the kids were playing video games together, and things were getting tense. Chris was playing and getting irritated at his lack of success; Justin was tired and strung out and anxious about some of the choices Chris was making during the game. Justin would tell his dad to do something and his dad would snap back at him. It was ugly.

Normally, when Chris starts getting snippy with the kids, I start getting snippy with him, wishing he could have more patience and understanding. But this time I found a better way: by ME having more patience and understanding. I took some advice from the Orange Rhino site: I can’t control my kids’ (or anyone else’s) behavior, but I can always control my reaction to that behavior. So I stayed calm, kept a normal tone of voice, talked to them about what was going on…and everybody relaxed a bit.

I know not yelling works. I know because I’ve seen it in my own household. I know because my own mother is a model of patience and understanding who never yelled and yet somehow always got her message across. I know because my older brother never yells at his kids and has immeasurable depths of patience as a father, so much so that it humbles me and makes me want to be a better mom.

I know I can be a better parent by not yelling. And I know I can do it — because I’ve decided to do it.

I may have had a slip-up this morning, but that depends on who you talk to. And it brings up a very important question: what exactly does “no yelling” mean?

The kids were driving me insane this morning. We’re all early risers and generally have at least two hours of awake time before we have to get out the door, but the boys were too busy messing around to care that Mom had instructed them to get dressed and make their beds because we were leaving for school in 15 minutes. Polite requests were not getting it done, so I resorted to an angry hiss through clenched teeth: “Little boys who can’t listen do not get to play iPad. Now GET GOING!”

None of this was done in a raised voice, so I figured I was cool. Chris insists that counted as yelling.

The Orange Rhino site that started all this has a “yelling meter” that might be useful in this situation (note that Orange Rhino says anything up to level 4 is OK):

0 – The everyday voice. The “life is good,” I just love being a mom and having these little conversations voice. Serenity and happiness ooze out with every word. Signs: you think to yourself, wow, this is a nice moment, I think I’ll cherish it and you’re filled with hope that the day is gonna be a good one.

1 – The whisper. The quiet, almost non-audible voice that our pre-school teacher uses that somehow gets attention, respect and follow through. Signs: you can barely hear it and it works like magic.

2 – The re-direct voice. It’s a clear, loving and patient voice that does not show irritation for the situation at hand but instead gently expresses that you don’t like a behavior, why, and offers a new activity. Sign: When you use it you pat yourself on the back for successfully following advice from a parenting magazine, for once.

3 – The firm voice (potentially raised). This is the I am starting-to-mean business voice accompanied with occasional raised eye brows and introduction of idle threats. Signs: you are still calm and there are no hurt feelings, but you’re wondering when (not if) you’re gonna snap and you are growing impatient, quickly.

4 – The “oopsie” snap. Stop! Alright! Ouch! This snap is starting to get nasty, but hasn’t gotten there yet. It isn’t a long tirade, it’s just a quick sharp voice where you stop yourself…it’s just enough to make the kids stop what they are doing for a second and think whether or not they will continue annoying behavior. Signs: blood pressure is picking up a little, but you are back to calm quickly and think “oh crap I really didn’t mean to do that.”

5 – The nasty snap. Darn it! Knock it off! Cut it out! This snap might be short, but it’s filled with venom. Signs: blood is starting to boil inside; vocal chords are warming up, preparing for a long tirade; you think to yourself “oh crap” was that a nasty snap? If you think it, it was.

6 – The yell. It’s loud. You know it’s loud. And it’s mean. You simply know you’ve crossed the line, there is no question. Signs: kids tears are a pretty good indicator, as are doors slamming, kids screaming back at you that you’re mean and they don’t love you any more.

7 – The raging scream. A notch up from “the yell.” It’s totally intentional and is filled with much more nastiness, hurtfulness and hysteria – on both sides. Signs: body shaking, often hard to stop doing it; results in feelings of massive guilt and shame in the screamer and definite feelings of shame, sadness, and fear in the kiddos; throat throbs afterwards.

Based on the above scale, I’d say the incident this morning was a level 3. The lapse with Brayden last night was probably a 4. So maybe all is still well. (And for the record: I have never had a level 7).

What say my loyal readers?

I was doing pretty well today (three successful non-yelling incidents!) but I had one brief lapse tonight.

First success: I found Brayden waiting outside the door while his brother used the bathroom. With a mischievous grin, Brayden told me he was waiting to scare Justin. I told him not to — three times. So when Justin opened the door, Brayden immediately screamed, “Boo!” But I didn’t yell. I gave Brayden a timeout for doing what I had specifically told him not to do, and then I reminded him that he needs to listen. Well done, Mom.

Second success: Brayden managed to pee on his jeans while using the toilet because he didn’t pull his pants down far enough. I was tempted to yell (I just did laundry today!) but I took a deep breath and told him to get some clean pants. Still OK.

Lapse: On his way out of the bathroom, Brayden was messing around with his pants and not looking where he was going…so he bumped into the stool and fell into me. This was just seconds after the peeing-on-the-pants incident, and I was in a hurry to get supper cleaned up, and I have a stuffy nose that’s making me irritable…so I snapped at him, “Pay attention!” He whimpered that I’d hurt his feelings. I gave him a hug and said sorry. He pointed out that I wasn’t supposed to yell, and I admitted I blew it. Then he looked at me very seriously and said, “You lost control a little bit there, huh?” It humbled me.

Third success: Brayden was reaching for something on the table when he accidentally knocked over the box of Pokemon cards, which of course scattered all over the floor. This is a recurring issue in our house (see Day 2) but instead of yelling about being careful, I said, “Oopsie. Better pick those up.” And he actually did.

I’m calling the day a success overall. I’m also letting Chris take over until bedtime. Sigh…

I haven’t even been tempted to yell at the kids today, but it’s kind of a hollow victory: I hardly saw them. They spent the morning at Grandpa’s, and then I was busy helping with the autism awareness walk, and then Justin went to a hockey game, so there weren’t many opportunities to clash. Who said this parenting thing was tough? Pshaw.

I’ve been mulling over suggestions from others on ways to deal with the kids that involve neither yelling nor repeating myself a dozen times. If they won’t pick up their Pokemon cards, for example, I could threaten to pick them up myself and keep them for the rest of the day. That’s certainly an idea, though I can envision lots more yelling from their end. But it might be short-term pain for long-term gain.

For Justin in particular, I need to develop a more visual way to get his attention. When he gets going on his rants (which these days mostly stem from his aversion to being told what to do), talking to him is useless: he can’t process my words even if he could hear them, which he likely can’t. He learns best through his eyes. Writing things out for him is a good technique, but not always practical. What we really need is some sort of hand signal to let him know it’s time to calm down. Hmm…

There’s something cathartic about doing this challenge. Admitting to the world that I’m not a perfect mother was tough — but by getting it out there, on my terms, it removed the fear of someone else pointing it out. Don’t bother judging me; I’ve already decided I need to change.

This morning Justin complained at the top of his lungs about having to get dressed and brush his teeth, about his brother coming into his room uninvited, about his brother having gotten dressed first (never mind that he could’ve been done first if he had just shut up and done it):

“I don’t want to get dressed! I’m not brushing my teeth! What? Brayden’s done? That’s not fair! I hate it when he gets dressed first! Why did my brother get dressed first? That’s so not fair!” And on and on.

Normally when he rants like that I respond first by raising my voice (partly because I doubt he could hear me otherwise, as his shouts are drowning out every other sound), and when that doesn’t work, I yell. It drives me batty that he’s so quick to scream when things bother him (especially when those things seem so inconsequential, at least to me…but I know part of that is his Asperger’s at work). So I usually end up yelling right back. (Where do kids pick this stuff up, right? Argh.)

So today I gritted my teeth, gave him an angry look and calmly explained that he had to get dressed and brush his teeth so he could do his Saturday job (vacuuming his room) and therefore earn his allowance. I don’t think the words meant anything to him, if he even heard them; he responded only to my tone, and since I wasn’t getting overexcited, he eventually calmed down too. Whew.

So in that case, I’d say my trigger was my son’s irrational outburst. Great.

I had another close call when I was trying to get the boys to pick up their Pokemon cards that were scattered all over the floor. After 10 (yes, 10…I counted) polite requests for them to clean up the mess, I finally (calmly, but with an edge in my voice) explained that I wasn’t allowed to yell, but they were making me really angry because they weren’t doing what I was asking them to do. The mess did get cleaned up — eventually.

Would yelling have made them move faster? Unlikely. It would have let me blow off some steam, but there was actually less steam to blow off because I didn’t let myself get all worked up. Plus I didn’t have to waste time trying to comfort upset children.

Did they get the message that I was upset? That’s the question I struggle with. I’ve seen other moms be completely calm in situations where I would’ve lost it, and I’ve sometimes wondered if the kid really understood how angry Mom was. Did they get that they really shouldn’t do that? I dunno.

One of the most effective ways I’ve found to stop myself from yelling is to pretend there’s a hidden camera recording everything I do. Like many people, I act like a more patient, compassionate parent when there are other adult eyes watching me. But why should I save my best behavior for strangers? Why shouldn’t the most important people in my life get the best part of me?

In a way, this experiment is about more than just yelling. Really, it’s about rediscovering the good in each other that we so often take for granted. Not yelling means finding more pleasant ways to communicate. And that’s good for everybody.

My name is Crystal, and I’m a yeller.

There: I said it. Although to be honest, I don’t think it’s as serious as it might sound. There are lots of far more serious bad habits that I don’t have. I’m not a couch potato. I don’t drink. I don’t gamble. And I never swear in front of the kids.

But I do get loud. I do slam things around when I’m angry. And I don’t apologize enough for it.

Confession is good for the soul, right?

We had a quick family meeting this morning wherein I announced that I was going to try not yelling for one full week, and that it would be nice if everyone else could try to do the same. I also told the kids that if they see me starting to lose it, they should say “Orange rhino!” to remind me of my goal. (I know that sounds lame, but it was one of the suggestions on the Orange Rhino site, so I figured it was worth a shot.)

Day 1 has not been too tough so far, but it’s not hard to not yell at the kids when they’re at school most of the day. Justin has had a few “I’m not doing that!” moments of defiance, but I managed to stay calm rather than get snippy, so that was a bonus. I’m supposed to be noting the times that make me want to yell so I can identify my triggers, but it’s been pretty smooth sailing so far.

We’ll see what the weekend brings…