Bringing up Boys: ARRRGGGGHHHHHHH

Sometimes that is the only way to deal with the boys.
SHOUT
SCREAM
And Holler a bit.
It is quite exhausting but effective....eventually.
I have a loud voice, thank heavens, otherwise I would have been totally rolled over (metaphorically speaking) and completely out of control.
As it is I am only mildly out of control but those looking on may beg to differ.
If I had had a quiet and unassuming way about me then I fear things could have been a lot worse. I would be one of those mothers who ineffectually asks her son to stop being so rough with Little Johnny as he may not like being  put head first down in the toilet and to not pull the pretty picture off the wall in the Sainsbury wing of the National Portrait Gallery as other people may want to look at it too.
No, with my boys I have found there is only one way to get through to them...
Say NO to any request and shout when they fail to obey an order immediately; in fact shout the order first just so they know that what you are saying is important.
I would love to just be able to request they do something but I have found that they just ignore me especially when they think they have something better to do.
So I gird my loins in the morning to get them up, we start off pleasantly enough. Good mornings are said and curtains are drawn and I'll add a chirpy little comment about the day ahead.
But by the time I have tripped over the plethora of toys and dirty clothes strewn across the floor and trodden on the ubiquitous bit of Lego in my bare feet to reach the effing curtains I am in top notch scream mode - it gets them out of bed quick enough.
Getting them brushing teeth and going to the loo, washing their faces etc is like wading through treacle it takes so long. I goad and plead and threaten and hassle before stomping off downstairs threatening them with dire consequences if they don't get down here in five minutes.
About twenty minutes later they are just about ready to have breakfast and I am boiling like a kettle. Food is thrust at them and any pretence of requesting and asking nicely has been banished for the duration.
I do try, honest I do! I keep saying to myself I need to be nice adn calm and motherly, but whenever I am, I just feel I am being taken advantage of.
I love them to bits but there is only one way to deal with them - shout like Sergeant Major and order not ask.
It hasn't done them any harm as far as I can see. And as I type this out they are waiting for me in their bedrooms to say goodnight, they are trying very hard not to giggle but failing...dismally..
PS. When I want them to feel real fear I, of course, just whisper...

Screaming!

It has just happened.

It came from nowhere and I feel foul.

I screamed at the boys just now because I couldn’t get The Boy’s medicine out of the bottle properly because I was trying to use a make-do syringe rather than trying to find the proper one among all the mess, as I have the kitchen repainted, and it spilt everywhere. A sticky mess dripping all over the kitchen cupboards, all over my hands and all over the floor, so I screamed in frustration. I threw back my head and screamed. I screamed until I had no more breath left, till I felt my fingers tingle and my throat grow raw.

The boys covered their ears and after I snapped at them to eat their supper and go to bed and leave me alone I holed myself up here, in the hope that I won’t do it again. I hate losing it with my boys and I know I have been treading a fine line lately. I had hoped, as I always do, that I might get away with it but foiled again (it should be my catch phrase).

I’ve been tired lately and fussed and doing too much. Book club and dinner out and The Boy’s birthday, a sleepover and taking on the veggie patch. Not to mention that fact that I have had the builders in since January and now it really is time for them to leave.

I cannot cope with the mess and not being able to put things away and be calm and sorted. I cannot cope anymore with being smiley and happy when I have work deadlines to meet and answering endless very important questions about all the minutiae. I long to scream at them: “Just do it! And stop bothering me!” but I can’t and so the boys land up taking the brunt.

And all the time I feel I am getting more and more out of control and I get angry, so very, very, angry and tired, so very, very, tired with it all.

The boys keep putting their heads round the door to ask me questions and I snarl at them. I am trying to warn them away until I am calm enough to cope with putting them to bed and reading a bedtime story. I know when I venture out of my hole it will be difficult not to blow a fuse again but I must get myself under control. I must be able to say sorry and to smile and to reassure them that everything is OK and that it is not them.

You know it's so very exhausting.