So, the last few weeks I’ve been an evil bitch of a mother.

No really. I’ve yelled at my kids (lots). I’ve gotten upset at them for things they can’t help, things that fall into the “just being kids” category. Things I would tut-tut my husband for getting mad at them over, saying “you can’t expect them to [insert behaviour here] – they’re just little kids!” And I’ve blamed them for things I have no right blaming them for.

It hit me when a friend was talking about hiding from her mother when she was sick as a young girl, beacuse she didn’t want to add another burden to her mom. She knew her mother (who had six children) would just be upset and overwhelmed that one of them was vomiting, so she’d head into the bathroom alone, trying to be so quiet that her mom wouldn’t hear. There’s even a family legend involving her projectile vomiting across the bedroom she shared with her sisters; the force driven by her unsuccessful attempt to suppress the throwup she knew would upset her mother.

Good God, I thought, how horrible! What terrible emotional damage to inflict on a child.

And then an icy trickle went down my spine. Wasn’t this just what I had been doing all week, saying things like, “you spilled because you were careless, and who’s going to wipe it up? You?? No! Me!! Your carelessness has just made twice as much work for me!”

Evil bitch of a mother. Just like I told you.

Then as I sent my daughter off to school crying (because I had told her she was behaving like a two year old — she was, for the record — and also because I had pretended to throw her new hat in the garbage), I realized things had to change. Actually, I realized I had to change.

First thing I did was to sign Girl1 out of school at recess and take her out for a “treat” (rice krispie square at Starbucks) and a sincere apology. We made a deal that I would not yell anymore, but would ask reasonably for the kind of behaviour I needed. We agreed that she (and later I elicited the same agreement from her sister) would try her best to be a good listener. She was back in time for the bell, and I felt like I could live another day with myself.

It’s been three days since then, and I haven’t yelled at the girls once yet (not really). I have used a firm, no-nonsense tone of voice, and I’ve had to remind both girls repeatedly that I am living up to my half of the bargain so they’d better do the same.

And you know what? It’s really not all that hard to do. In the end, it’s just a simple decision. I still get that same welling-up of acidic anger when they don’t listen, or dawdle, or carelessly spill their juice while standing up in their chairs with a knee on the kitchen table. But instead of giving in to the impulse to yell and blame, I just make the simple choice not to. And it works. And you know what? Their behaviour is improving, too!

Go figure.