Adjusting my volume in certain situations

I was driving home from work one night last week when about 10 feet in front of me a deer stepped onto the road to cross.

I’m always on the lookout for deer driving home but this was a new, dark location where I’d never seen any deer cross before.

Usually (or hopefully) when deer cross in front of you they’re running, or, at the very least, moving quickly. But not this time. The only way I can describe what was happening is the deer was leisurely strolling across the road. It wasn’t panicked, but I was. “Oh no!” I screamed, as I starting slowing down to avoid hitting it.

And then another deer stepped onto the road behind it.

And a third.

And a fourth.

They were all leisurely strolling across the road as if they were in a parade. This, of course, led to more screaming on my part as I’m slamming on my brakes to avoid hitting them all.

“No! No! No!” I screamed as each new deer appeared in front of me, while also screaming out some words that we’ll just say weren’t very lady like.

At that moment I was thankful for three things:

#1) My brakes.

#2) That no one was driving behind me.

#3) That I didn’t have a bunch of glass vases lying on one of my seats. What I did have was our takeout supper and it went flying.

Listening to my screaming was my oldest son. So I kept throwing in reassurances for him.

“No! No! No!”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” (Then some bad words.) “It’s alright!!!” “Noooo!!!! Nooo!!!”

“It’s good! It’s all good.” And when all was done, and the deer had crossed the road without me hitting them, I left out a gigantic and grateful, “Phew!”

I was later telling the story to my youngest son (without the unlady-like words) when he told me I was screaming too much.

Well, it’s kind of hard to tell a story that involves screaming when I’m not screaming, I said.

I brought my voice down several octaves, which made the story seem less dramatic.

Still, I do understand. He’s heard my screams before. One time a few years ago I was watching a Stanley Cup playoff game. “Nooo! Noooo!” I screamed out. My son came running out of his bedroom, armed with a plastic mini stick, apparently thinking we were being robbed. Oops.

Sorry, I told him, while appreciative over the fact that he was willing to be my protector.

An hour or so prior to writing this column he came upstairs from the basement den, just as a startling scene took place in this really intense movie I was watching.

As a result, he had the unfortunate timing of walking into the living room at the exact moment I gasped and screamed in horror.

I might have scared him more than the movie scared me. Once again…oops, sorry.

I did have the opportunity to make things up to him. I was making us some grill- cheese sandwiches on the weekend. He wanted two. I was hungry and decided to make myself one too.

I went to flip the sandwiches over while cooking them. Obviously I waited about a minute too long. The undersides of two of the sandwiches were burnt and there was no bread left to make any more sandwiches.

I took the two of the pieces of burnt bread and made them into my sandwich, while he got two sandwiches that weren’t burnt.

I could have screamed out how thoughtful I was, but there’s more to be said for simply bringing his plate of sandwiches to him and saying, “Here you go,” while leaving the room to eat my burnt grill cheese sandwich in another room.

Sometimes things we do quietly as a mom speaks volumes. Especially when no one hears us.