Were you saying something?

I yelled at my daughter Genevieve this morning when she was dawdling on getting into her car seat, despite having a lot of time to do it. I had been trying to leave the house for the past fifteen minutes and we were now on the verge of being late for Quaker meeting. Yes, those Quakers of peace and evolving discernment--the irony is not lost on me.

"Daddy, I don't like it when you yell at me. It's not fair when I can't yell at you, but you yell at me."

Which makes sense. I was presuming that she had buckled her seat belts without her body being in the seat (who else did this? elves?) and she was unable to get it unbuckled, but I didn't actually see how the buckles got locked. However, when I'm yelling at her, it's usually not because of a mis-presumption. Lately, it is because my words directed to her are being completely ignored. So I try to bring this up.

"Okay, I can get it that you don't think it's fair that you can't yell at me, but then I turn around and yell at you. That makes some sense. You know, I often yell at you because it seems like you can't hear me. So by being louder, then maybe you'll hear me. Or maybe because you're ignoring me. Whatever it is, I get very frustrated by that, and sometimes I yell."

I stop. There are a few moment of silence, then she says:

"What?"

I am quiet. I wait. It doesn't take long.

"What were you saying? I didn't hear you."

It's so good that I'm on my way to a Quaker meeting. I need it.