That is my considered opinion after a morning when I raised my voice more often than I should have during breakfast, harrassed beyond the end of my already hormonally-challenged temper by constant requests to read him his train-tastic railway magazine (Boy #2 is a train spotter extraordinaire in the making) and his tantrums over his too-sloppy weetabix, his too-sloppy cornflakes, and his napkin - which he refuses to tuck into his waist-band - falling repeatedly onto the floor.
So, whilst sorting the Boys' breakfasts, their lunch boxes, the pack of chopped vegetables that Boy #1 needed to take into class for a project today, getting them to brush their teeth, put their shoes on and check that they had all the various kit they needed for their day, I shouted. Loudly. There may have been swearing in there, too. There was certainly a great deal of hissiness and general crossness on my part, and if I'm honest, a remark that I may well go back to work and leave Boy #2 with a nanny if he continued to behave like this every morning. Which was not a helpful thing to say, since if it comes to that, it will be nothing to do with his behaviour and everything to do with financial realities and / or my trying to re-establish myself as an employable human being.
And it's too close to being a real possibility for me to allow him to think of having a nanny as a punishment.
In the heat of the moment I'm falling into the trap, I think, of imagining that what I say to him won't be remembered in years to come and yet, he's 5, for goodness' sake. He already remembers events that happened last year and the year before. Hell, he remembers that the blasted train magazine he was leafing through this morning was a present from his cousin last February. I can no longer rely on the fact that he is too little to process and store away things that are said and done; he isn't.
It's just unfortunate that his end-of-week tiredness, his kicking against the restraints of going back to school after a summer of doing what he likes, when he likes, collide with what seems to be an increasingly fierce PMT as I get older.
I need to take a step back in those situations. I need to take a deep breath. Is it really worth getting wound up over too-sloppy weetabix, for example? Why not bite my tongue, simply throw it away and start again? Because it's one of those battles that really, really aren't worth fighting, and in any case, desperate to get him to eat something, anything for breakfast before a long school day, that's what I did this morning. Crossly, yes. Muttering about over-priviledged little pashas and starving children in Africa, yes, but eventually, that's what I did; throw it away and start again.
Writing this down here, it's glaringly obvious that in situations like this, I need to aim for the high ground. I am the parent; I am the grown up. I am the one who should be able to keep their temper. Perhaps I need my own star chart here? Awarding myself points for fulfilling the promise 'I will keep my temper when Boy #2 is having one of those mornings'? It's certainly worth thinking about.
In the meantime, I'm off to make the vanilla cake that I promised him when I dropped him unwillingly off at school this morning. Well. Given the circumstances - and the time of the month - I think it will make both of us feel better...
