Could You Go a Week Without Yelling at Your Kids?

Could You Go a Week Without Yelling at Your Kids?

For every mom out there saying, "Sure, no problem," there are thousands more shouting, "Impossible!" Here's how a confirmed yeller got through seven whole days using her inside voice.

By Amy Wilson

"Within each of us, ofttimes, there dwells a mighty and raging fury." —The Incredible Hulk

I don't consider myself an angry person. I can count on one hand the number of times I've shouted at my husband, and I wouldn't dream of raising my voice at a rude salesperson. In fact, in all the world, there are only three people I ever get veiny-necked at: my children, ages 7, 6, and 2.

I'm not proud that I couldn't imagine treating a line-cutting stranger the way I do my own flesh and blood on a daily basis. But strangers don't tend to work my last nerve like my own kids can. What I actually say when I yell at them tends more toward "I don't care how itchy it is — you're wearing that scarf!" than anything truly damaging, but nonetheless, I've been meaning to stop. Two years ago I gave up yelling at my kids for Lent. I should've known it wouldn't go well: If I couldn't last 40 days without dark chocolate, I'd never be able to abstain that long from my primary means of discipline. I went 10 days without chocolate. Without yelling? Four hours.

Recently, however, I've sensed that all my sound and fury is losing effectiveness. As I railed at my children one morning for fighting over Silly Bandz, I saw them cast furtive glances at one another — Here she goes again. That day, I gave myself a new challenge: no yelling at the kids for a week. Only seven days. At summer camp, when I was 9, I didn't brush my hair for a week on a bunkmate's dare. By the end, I could have happily worn a baseball cap for the rest of my life. Would a break from yelling be similarly liberating? I needed to find out.

Day 1: The challenge begins

I send Seamus and Connor, my 6- and 7-year-old sons, to brush their teeth after breakfast, knowing that they can't peacefully coexist for more than 30 seconds. I hear them hollering through the floor. Then a thump that sounds like somebody's head. Then howls of rage.

Any other day, I'd take the stairs three at a time, shouting that they'd better cut it out if they ever want to see Scooby-Doo again in this lifetime. But today I just stand there, taking cleansing breaths, and after a few thump-filled minutes...silence. To my astonishment, their fight ends without my intervention, and no one loses an ear either.

I'm not yelling! I think, terribly proud of myself.

Problem: My kids are. Lowering my own voice has made it glaringly clear that my children live their entire lives at the top of their lungs. I stay out of their scuffles for the rest of the day, just listening to the din around me. Where did my children learn to go full-throttle like this? Sadly, the answer is obvious.

By saying almost nothing at all, I avoid yelling for the entire day — but this tactic won't work for a whole week. Is there a way to execute firm discipline in a kinder, gentler way?

Day 2: Speak softly and...

My plan for today is that I will interrupt their fighting, but each time I want to get louder, I will get quieter instead. Just like Supernanny does with her recalcitrant charges.

"Shut UP!" my oldest shouts across the kitchen table.

"No, YOU shut up!" his brother bellows back.

These words are forbidden in our house, but I'm tempted to yell them myself. Instead, I murmur so quietly that they have to ask me to repeat myself: "The next person who says 'shut up' has to do 10 push-ups."

The military-style threat quiets everyone down — except for my 2-year-old daughter, who says, "The next person to say 'shut up,' dem do 10 pushers?" Her brothers, suddenly sticklers for rules, insist she drop and give 'em 10. Maggie doesn't mind, but she's kind of vague on what push-ups are, exactly, and in the ensuing battle over whether her attempts count, my oldest accidentally uses the "S.U." words again, then refuses to perform his own punishment. Soon I'm standing over him shrieking like a demented drill sergeant because he won't do the push-ups I'd prescribed specifically to avoid yelling.

"How's your experiment going?" my husband asks when he gets home that night.

"I yelled at Connor this morning," I admit (on the defensive), "but he disobeyed me to my face!" David listens to my story and proceeds carefully. "Okay, he didn't do his 10 push-ups," he says gently, "but that was just a silly thing you made up. I mean, he wasn't running into traffic."

He's right. I was yelling about the push-ups, but the boys' fight was long over. To stop screaming, I need to learn to quit while I'm ahead.

Day 3: The Stress Test...

I take the kids out to dinner with my friend Susan and her brood. Between us, we have five children ages 7 and under, which makes for a big, boisterous table. As our kids squirm and talk at top volume, the woman in the next booth gives me the fish-eye over the rim of her wine glass.

I want to say: If you're looking for a peaceful, child-free meal, lady, don't go to a pizza joint at 5:30 p.m. But I internalize her judgment of me as a bad mom who can't control three children. To prove her — and myself — wrong, I grab Seamus's arm and hiss under my breath: "Use your inside voice now, or I'm taking you right out to the car, mister!"

This quiets him down for a few seconds, then I have to threaten him again, then his brother, then him, then his sister. I'm in a full sweat, while Susan just sits there, enjoying a garlic knot as her daughter bounces on the banquette.

"That lady's shooting us dirty looks," I explain.

"Really?" Susan says. "I hadn't noticed."

"Maybe we should get the pizza to go," I say.

"Why?" Susan asks, genuinely confused. "They're not running wild. They're just being kids."

She has a point. I'm disciplining my kids to meet a stranger's standards. If their behavior isn't bothering anyone else in the restaurant, then the wino lady is the real problem.

Day 4: It's a tone thing

I go way easier on my kids today to make up for the pizza episode. When I find a trail of Goldfish crumbs across the living room, I don't conduct an interrogation; I Dustbust. When Maggie insists on wearing a tutu to the library even though it's 40 degrees outside, I let her wear it stuffed under her coat. I start to actually feel the calm I'm working so hard to project. I even think my kids are more peaceful. When David comes home, I meet him at the door to tell him my progress.

ME: "I didn't yell today! For real!" I shoo the kids upstairs while he raids the refrigerator.
DAVID: "Wow — good for you."
ME: "Kids! I said turn the TV off! Move it!" He sticks his head around the fridge door.
DAVID: "Uh. You're yelling."
ME: "That's not yelling!"
DAVID: "It's kind of yelling."
ME: "This! Isn't yelling! It's how I talk!" David smirks like someone who has just had his point made for him. "How else do I get them to brush their teeth the first dozen times I ask?"
DAVID: "Well, it's not only about decibel level."
ME: "What is it, a tone thing?"
DAVID: "If you notice, I don't really talk to the kids like you do."
ME: "If you notice, you don't really take care of the kids like I do." You can probably guess how the rest of the evening went: not so much volume, lots of "tone."

Day 5: Thar she blows!

Okay. Yesterday I thought I wasn't yelling and maybe I was, but today, I do not yell, in decibel or in tone. I smile and ask nicely, no matter how many times I have to repeat myself. This may be considered success, but I'm so stressed from the effort that I might blow a gasket. Then dinnertime arrives.

"I didn't want ketchup on my hamburger!" Seamus howls. "I wanted it NEXT to my hamburger! It's RUINED, and YOU RUINED IT, MOMMY!" I stand still, gripping the kitchen counter, but it's not working — probably because he can see that Mommy Teapot is about to boil over.

Later my friend AJ tells me, "When one of my kids really gets going, I whip out the camera and tell them I want to capture the moment."

"And they stop whining?!" I ask.

"Sorta," she says. "At least it gives me something to do besides throttling them." Huh. I've been meaning to take more pictures of the kids....

Day 6: The simple truth

My friend Cece calls from Chicago at 9:30 a.m. on Saturday. As soon as I answer the phone, all three of my children start pulling on my pajamas wanting their second breakfast — you know, the one kids demand as soon as you finish dumping out the cereal they didn't eat 20 minutes earlier.

"I will make you French toast, but I'm on the phone," I hiss, and after a few minutes trying to catch up with Cece, crack eggs, and break up three fights, I hang up and tell them how disappointed I am in what I must admit is a slightly raised voice. The rest of the day, I focus mostly on the kids, and things go more smoothly.

Suddenly I realize: multitasking causes yelling. If I don't attempt to do anything besides parent my kids — including getting dressed and using the bathroom — why, I won't have to yell!

Day 7: An all-new mad mom

I wake up feeling enlightened. It's like a juice fast: impossible for six days, but suddenly I can do it forever. I marvel at how far I've come, and we have an amazing, sun-dappled day.

The kids are wild after dinner, and it takes me an extra half hour to get them down, but I don't crack. As I settle into the couch for what is, next to my family, the most important thing in my life — an all-new Mad Men — my heart swells with pride. And then Connor appears at my elbow to say, "Mom, I'm not tired."

ME: "Go to bed, buddy."
CONNOR: "But I'm not tired!"
ME: Firmly: "It's an hour past your bedtime!"
CONNOR: "NO! I want another story!"
ME: Getting louder: "No! No story! Mommy is closed!"
CONNOR: "But—"
ME: At full blast: "I'm DONE! Do you hear me? GO TO BED!"

And just like that, I went Betty Draper on him. I made it until 10:15 p.m. But I still failed.

So there you have it: I couldn't stop yelling for a week. But I did yell less. And I realized when and why I do it, and that, okay, it has less to do with the kids' behavior and more with my own moods. I'll probably keep yelling, but I'll also keep trying to stay calm. If the Hulk can turn back into Bruce Banner, there's still hope for me.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I LOST IT OVER...
"My boys, ages 3 and 2, were running around like banshees buck naked — which they just love to do — and I yelled, 'Put your wangdoodles away already!' They just laughed and ran faster." —REBECCA GERSTUNG, CHICAGO

"In the parking lot at the county fair, my then-4-year-old son slugged me in the arm, and I yelled at him. He looked at me with sad eyes and said, 'Slug bug, Mom.'" —LORIE READING, NORTH JUDSON, IN

"My 3-year-old daughter blurted out an expletive, and I actually threatened to wash her mouth out with soap! Who did I think I was, a mom on a 1950s sitcom?" —CHERI OSMUNDSEN, SAN CLEMENTE, CA