I am not as a rule, a shouty sort of person.
There are days though.
That get the better of me.
And I need to renew, remind, and refresh my intention to speak as I intend to and not be carried away in the moment.
Today, was one of those days.
The hour between ten and eleven in the morning, I said all of the following in exactly this order:
Stop poking finger holes in the butter
Don’t sniff your brother’s butt
Stop licking the oven
Please don’t lick the turtle
That hole is not for your fingers
Don’t bite the chair
Don’t pretend to pee on your sister
Stop doing Gangham style without underwear
Don’t bite the cat
Stop licking your armpit
Why are you still naked
No naked Gangham on the table
Don’t try to lick your own butt
Take your foot out of your sandwich
Don’t rub your sandwich on the wall
The cat won’t even eat the cat crunchies, so stop eating them
No you can not take the ketchup to the loo with you
Don’t wipe your nose on the ketchup bottle
Quit singing songs about farts, poop, and privates
Where is the cat and the ketchup?
Who put the cat and the ketchup in the dryer?
Stop licking people
Don’t sit on your sister’s head
For goodness sake stop peeing in the mop bucket
Put some underwear on
No welly boots on the bannister
Don’t pee in the storage heater
Don’t smack your sister with a coffee cup, she’s sleeping
Why is there poop on the stair gate
Take the guinea pig out of your pants
Hair is not a napkin
We do not put hair elastics on penises
Put some pants on!
This was recorded by hatchling no2, who was meant to be doing school work,
while I was trying to do phonics practice with hatchling no3.
During the quiet hour of my day,
because the baby was napping.
What I didn't realise, until it was played back, by hatchling no2, is how over the course of an hour my tone grew harder and louder.
Sharper, than I actually intend.
Far too frequently, I see that hurt look, on a four year old boy's face, when I am telling him off for the thousandth time, which is something else for me to work on, let alone, how much a tender little heart hurts with repeatedly being cut down by his mother's irritation, frustration and temper.
I don't swear or call my children names.
I don't give them negative attributes or tell them they are worthless.
I don't need to do that to see them look crushed, when I snap at them, exasperated by their abundant energy and enthusiasm.
Hence, today, I again find myself renewing my attempt to speak with intention, to protect and nurture these many blessing I have been given.