Speaking intentionally

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.

Or realise.

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.