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Old Yeller

No, not the dog. I’m talking about me, and my propensity towards being rather loud. I come from a family of yellers- my mom is one, by grandfather was one. My cousin Heidi, my Uncle Boogie, (yes, I have an uncle named Boogie. His real name is Fizzle, though, just to clear that up.) the whole mess of us are yellers. Thanksgiving at our house is not for the faint of heart- it is, however, great if you are hard of hearing.

The bad thing about being a yeller is that when you are actually upset (which for me, with my two kids, puppy and somewhat frustrating boyfriend, is often) you have no choice but to kick it up a decibel or twelve. The neighbors always know who I am. I don’t always care for the way they look at me when I am outside- I mean, really. You try living with this bunch of maniacs, sometime. I am actually a really nice person, as long as you don’t know me very well.

The other bad thing about being a yeller is that after a while, no one pays attention to you anymore, no matter how loud you get. “Oh, that’s just my crazy mom again.” Aisley might say to her friend while I am in the kitchen screaming at what a mess they’ve made, or because someone ate ALL of my emergency Goober Grape AGAIN, and put the empty jar back in the cupboard.

I do not discriminate at whom I yell- inanimate objects are just as likely to be the focus of my rants as are the breathing inhabitants of my home. I try not to yell at the baby, since she is, after all, just a baby…but she may have gotten it a time or two, herself. Like when she just will NOT stop putting the dogs food into the water dish, or she refuses to keep her fingers away from the twelve billion outlets in this house. YES, they all have those baby proofing thingy’s in them, but still! I yell at semi-retarded drivers and sometimes at my own car while I’m driving. I yell at my daughter for using my bathrobe as a make-up rag, and for using my razor. I yell at Devon for leaving coffee cups everywhere and not calling me when he’s going to be home late. I yell and yell and yell, and no one is listening. I’ve become white noise.

But I have a solution. I become quiet. Deadly, scarily quiet. This really freaks everyone out. It’s not an easy thing for me to sustain as it is completely contrary to my nature, but I think I could get better at it with practice.

So…Here is my little project. From now until this time next week, I am going to calmly, quietly, go about my business. When I am pissed off, I am going to find another, new way of dealing with it. I am going to scare the pants off of these monkeys I live with.

Do you think I can do it? Do you think it will even be noticed? Hmmm….let’s see!