One of my least favorite aspects of my motherhood is my yelling voice. I’m not a big yeller, but there are times when it’s necessary. Like calling the kids up from the basement or in from outside, for example. Or getting the attention of a certain six-year-old as she’s spraying water all over the kitchen because she decided to see how long the faucet hose was while the water was running. You know, that sort of thing.
The problem is, as soon as my voice gets above a certain decibel, it takes on a shrill quality that is . . . shall we say . . . less than pleasant? It’s annoying even to me. I’m sure the moppets just love it. And I know what it sounds like because my mom has the same voice when she gets “firm.” (I love you, Ma, I really do. But you do get a little shrill when your voice gets loud. (((Hugs!))).)
My darling husband and dear friend P-diddles make fun of my yelling voice all the time. P-dids is lucky enough to live across the street from an awesome beach, and we spend a lot of time there in the summer. Any time I have to yell to the kids (who are always all the way down the beach when I need to reapply their sunscreen), P-dids gets a good giggle.
I took drama, damnit. I should be able to control the sound of my voice if I want to. Breathe deep, from the abdomen. I can still hear my high school drama teacher, Mr. Armitage, shouting from the back of the theater, “PROJECT, DAMNIT! PROJECT!” (Mr. Armitage liked to say “damnit” a lot, which is probably why I just said it. Teachers have such a powerful influence.)
I’m going to turn into one of those crotchety old ladies yelling, “Hey kids, get off my lawn!!!” in my shrill, annoying mom voice. I just know it.
Maybe I should invest in some walkie-talkies. Or a megaphone, perhaps. The moppets would really love that. 🙂