askyermom

My neighborhood is typical for medium density Eastern American living. It’s easy to forget what goes with rowhome life when you’ve been away for a while. I remember now.

Any time I have lived this close to others, there is always a screamer. It isn’t worth getting worked up about it. Kids scream for no logical reason, because they are kids. Sure, you can be napping in your rocking chair and sure, you don’t deserve to wake up to ear fracturing screams, but sometimes you will. They aren’t out to get you, or determined to wreck your rest. They want command of attention or an overdue turn or they are testing the limits of their vocal range–whatever they are doing, it’s presenting a predictable hazard of living next to a playground, any playground.

There is always a screamer in the neighborhood, but they are not always near your ears. Every time there is a season punctuated by screams, I remember that it’s been at least a year since the last nearby screamer outgrew screaming.

Unfortunately, the current screamer here is a notable one. She shrieks with truly alarming gusto, only stopping to breathe. The uninitiated pause and look to see that she is not being mauled by a bear and then move on when it is obviously a performance of emergency rather than an actual emergency. I’m puzzled that the other children seem to be immune to her screeching and ignore the fact that she is going full blast for as long as humanly possible. I worry that she’s doing damage to her vocal chords and shamefully wonder if it’s possible to de-shriek yourself.

When my kids began to have very energetic games, we had to establish some rules about yelling and screaming. Screaming was reserved for real emergencies. Likewise, yelling for “help” was not permitted unless a kid was in actual need of help. The help rule was set in place after I ran full speed to where they were only to find a toy dinosaur on a shelf which was playing the part of a cliff over imaginary lava. The kids were excellent voice actors.

We agreed that it was not a good game if it caused me to drop and run. Instead of yelling, “Help!” I taught them to airlessly yell, “Save me!” during their games and reserve the real screams for actual emergencies.

This worked out great, I think. I need to check in to see if anyone has felt hampered in asking for help as a side effect.

When I needed an actual rescue, I found it difficult to yell for help. What a lonesome mindset! To be embarrassed to need a hand. Maybe it’s difficult to trust other people will help. I have a horror of bad first aid, after all. Maybe it’s an aversion to obligation, but that seems too fancy a worry. I just don’t want CPR until I’m dead.

Now, I’m pleased to report, while I don’t always remember that I can ask for help, I do it. I know the help may not be exactly what I asked for, it might be imperfect first aid, but people love to try to be helpful–at least most of the people, most of the time.

If I get a scream in edgewise with the screamer, I may ask if she’s heard the one about the little kid who screamed wolf.

Love,
yermom

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