I Have NEVER Yelled at my Children

Yelling...what’s that?!

Oh, wait...wasn’t it just the other day I put the good ol’ yeller (ie, my MOUTH!) to work with my oldest boys.  I had just tackled cleaning out the monster mess in our minivan and the van was spick and span from front to back.  It was shortly after this cleaning frenzy occurred that I glanced at the boys in the backseat while we were coming home from an outing and noticed something terrible.  It looked as if a paper shredder had blown up all over the back of the van.  I pulled the van into the nearest parking lot to investigate what the BLEEP was going on!


Of course, the boys looked at me with cute and innocent eyes as I asked why there was a snowfall of shredded paper all over the backseat.  Judah, my three-year-old, shrugged, “I was just ripping up a book.  Sorry, Mommy.”


Oh, that’s all.  JUST RIPPING UP A BOOK!?!?  Ahhhh!!


I have NEVER yelled at my children.  


Okay, if you believe that then perphans you are not a parent or not a parent of a child over the age of two!  Or maybe you think the best of me and that is so kind of you but trust me, I am not being nominated  for parent-sainthood and for good reasons…mainly because I’m HUMAN!!


So, I aint proud of it, but I YELLED.  No, I didn’t chit chat about the pros and cons of book tearing in a newly spotless van and all that, I nearly bawled (note: I am VERY pregnant…but that’s really a lame excuse) as I scolded and lectured at a HIGH volume.

I admit this because I want you to know you are not alone in the parenting freak-out moments but it brings me NO joy to recall what a spaz I was that morning. Later that day I apologized to my sweet lil’ paper-shredders and that night when my husband and I were talking on the couch, I admitted my failure to him.  For reasons unknown to me, he stands by the belief that I’m the best mom to our children ever…even when I try to convince him otherwise.  Did I ever mention I love that man?


I still felt a load of guilt that I just couldn’t quite shake that week as I went through our daily routines.  This wasn’t the first freak-out moment I’d had but I wanted it to be the last (or at least have those moments be REALLY rare!).  I asked the Lord in my quiet time, “How do I change?”

I felt like I got an answer that kind of surprised me.  It was just one word, quietly whispered in my heart: LEGACY.


I had to spend some time thinking about what God.  I thought he’d give me a five-step plan of how to avoid yelling but then I realized, he was giving me a plan by showing me the BIG picture.  He was giving me the view from Eternity.  That is just like God...always being so...Eternal!!


What will my legacy to my children be?  How do I want to be remembered by them?

I sure don’t want them to remember me being a spaz about (what was it again?  Little pieces of paper?!  REALLY, Tara?!!  Geez!!) stuff that doesn’t really matter.  I want to be remembered as a woman of grace, wisdom and for goodness sakes, PATIENCE!


So, legacy.


Simple but profound.

It may sound silly, but that ONE word has shut off the ol’ yeller before things get nuts around here lately.  Just when I’m about to dive into Lecture #456 on why NOT to pee on the floor or why their silly fight is driving me bonkers, I shut my mouth and think,


“How do I want these precious little people to remember me?  What do I want my legacy to be?”


The minivan is messy again and you know what, I don’t care.  What matters more is that every night when my kids pull the covers up to their tiny noses they look at me with those bright and hopeful eyes full of love and say,

“Mommy, I wuv you so much.”