Vocal chords. Good, generally, but not always used that way when in the hands, or throat, of a toddler.
Axel has decided that screeching at the top of your lungs, like a pterodactyl's battle cry, is super cool. Here's what happens: he gets excited. He yells. Sometimes he adds in arm waving and running and head shaking. The dog also runs, wagging his tail, and barks. More yelling. More barking. More barking and yelling. More yelling and barking. Yell. Bark. The cat - smart creature that he is - sprints out of the room, which of course inspires more running and yelling and barking. Sometimes there's crying, usually from Jonas. Then I want to cry. It's loud. It's hard to think. My head hurts.
The yelling has also occured in a busy restaurant; Axel heard a kid at another table yell, and decided that it was a good idea to see if his screams could also be heard above the clinking of silverware and chatter of other Labor Day diners. Yeah, they could. The screams were very audible. The other diners were not all that impressed, except for the fellow toddler yeller at the other table who challenged Axel to an early morning yell-off over eggs and pancakes. I couldn't tell you who won. My ears were ringing from all the yelling.
Here's what I've tried: whispering when he yells. I think I read somewhere that whispering entices toddlers to quiet down and listen up. I might have misunderstood, because whispering does no such thing in our house. Then, I tried talking about inside voices and outside voices, and the general statement, "Axel. We do not yell." Axel yelled to show that, contrary to what I'd said, one of us does yell. A lot.
So, how do you stop a toddler from yelling, or at least turn down the volume?
