It's a NEW YEAR. Someone really needs to add a holiday to January though. Or hire it a new PR Rep. Currently January means REFRAIN. That's a terrible slogan.
Since it's the adult thing to do, I must roll with everyone around me. The herd is sprinting and I gotta keep up. If I'm at the back, stumbling around, covered in Doritos crumbs and yesterday's socks, I will be picked off by life and mounted as a cautionary tale: The Woman Who Thought December Was Eternal And Now Cannot Even Fit Into Her Maternity Underwear.
SO. What's a girl to do? 31 days ago I had to figure out how to improve myself in a way that doesn't suck to implicate. This was a hard job. I had to eat a lot of popcorn and chew it very slowly and thoughtfully.
I'll spring into eating better and working out more often as soon as the first ad for summer clothes crosses my peripherals. I remember summer at 232 pounds. Three words. HOT LEG RUBBING.
I'm not about to watch less television. That's just ridiculous.
So - I'll aim for the stars and attempt to reign in a bad (and secretive) parenting habit I've grown to love.
I discovered late in my life that I LOVE YELLING.
99% of the time I'm a quiet, agreeable, patient and kind human being.
But, sometimes when you are in charge of raising a human being, you become a human pressure cooker and the steam needs to go somewhere. When I'm extra tired or she's extra 5-years-old, or when I'm in a mood or when she decides to grunt and point because her "voice is sore" or when we need to be at Point B in like 4 minutes and she's spinning around Point A singing expired Christmas carols with one boot on and oblivious to my strained sing-song of "hurry up please," these are the triggers for my dark passenger. (Can we all bow our heads to mourn the wholly "meh" way that series ended please?)
I suddenly break parenting rules like fallen branches over my bare knees and use them for kindling to ignite a fire that burns hot and bright.
I yell. I harness my inner Celine and Mariah and Adele, inhale and let my lungs and vocal chords ring out. If you've never yelled at your kid, you have no idea how cleansing it feels to release all that pent up parenting frustration, self-doubt and fear. I know I should be trying to understand her more, muster just a minute more of patience, be the bigger (wo)man, because I am in every single way (height, age, width) but in that moment, I don't want to.
I want to yell.
I’m not proud of these moments. Proof: I never do it around anyone else. I know it's terrible. I don't want to be judged or get the side-eye from parents who are better than I am.
SURE, there might be a glint of fear in her eyes. SURE, I feel guilty about losing my cool and becoming a cartoon character of a spazz Mom. But: it works.
That volume and fever pitch slices through everything and lets her know when I've had enough. When the line has been crossed. When she needs to listen up or her world will suddenly become way less filled with toys and Ever After High: Dragon Games (now streaming on Netflix!)
I'll miss this tool in my parenting toolbox. But I don't want to be a momster and I don't want my kid to think yelling is an appropriate way to get what she wants. Because what if she grows up and turns into a terrible human being that is the star of a VERY BORING documentary.
(TERRIBLE SEGUE, I know.)
I just...couldn't. I tried. I was four deep into Making a Murderer. These kind of stories normally captivate me. But, I felt like I was slogging through and here's where the dangerous beauty of Netflix shines through - if you don't like something, there are 4895675 other shows to press Play on. And so I did.
SO - what is on your Netflix list for February? Why should I go back and give MAM another chance? Tell/Yell at me in the comments!
As a member of Netflix Canada's #streamteam I will be giving you the straight goods on what I'm watching each month in exchange for a yearly membership. It's a match made in heaven, really.