I seem to have lost the ability to speak in a normal voice. I’ve got so used to shouting that I’m shouting when there’s no need to shout. In fact, shouting is probably a polite way of describing the sounds that have been coming out of my mouth in recent days. And all to no effect whatsoever. Absolutely no effect. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Cue slightly scary hysterical laughter and some gentle rocking backwards and forwards.
It has become as clear as crystal that Ella, Louis and Theo are completely unphased by my increasingly desperate attempts to control they’re blatantly bad behaviour. They could certainly never be accused of giving up. Whatever act of appalling naughtiness they are intent on carrying out will be seen through to the bitter, bloody end. Nothing will stop them. Least of all me and my… shouting.
When Jake was the triplets age it was all softly, softly, cuddles and kisses, constant positive reinforcement and the very occasional stern voice. I realise now that I had a very easy child on my hands. Yes, it was sometimes knackering, draining and occasionally soul destroying but nothing I couldn’t handle and to be honest, I was a little perplexed by some of the tales of woe from other mums as they were driven to distraction by their little darlings. I got it, but only up to a point.
I get it now. I get it, okay? With bells on.
Whereas Jake is at the age where he finds my very existence a source of embarrassment, Ella, Louis and Theo seem to find me so entertaining that I’m considering putting myself up for an open mic night at the local comedy club. I’m obviously the funniest thing around. Take it from them – I’m an absolute must-see riot. The louder I shout, the louder they laugh. The more I shriek the less I’m heard and forgive me for stating the obvious but it’s three against one. I don’t have a hope in hell. Whatsmore they can see I’m losing control and they’re on fire with it, adrenaline pumping and eyes shining. They’re even bonding it over it for god’s sake. I’ve never seen them so close.
So, what do I do? Admit defeat, leave them to it and wait for the ASBOs to plop through the letter box or continue to face each new day with the best of intentions only to find I’m scaring the birds out of the trees five minutes into breakfast and before any of us are out of our pyjamas.
I need a new approach and fast. I need back up. Military intervention, maybe.
AND they’ve dropped their lunch time nap. To spite me. I just know
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