“Why Am I Always Shouting?” Calming the Chaos Without Losing Your Cool.
“Motherhood: where your inner zen master takes frequent, unpaid leave.”
"Why Am I Always Shouting? Parenting Through Pain, Laughter, and Foam Ammunition"
It was the day before New Year’s Eve, that strange twilight zone where time has no meaning. You’re fuelled entirely by leftover cheese boards and Quality Street, wearing the same hoodie for the fourth day in a row, and avoiding eye contact with the post-Christmas carnage in the lounge like it’s a crime scene.
Enter my 6-year-old. My cherub-faced, sugar-charged assassin.
Without warning, he launched a point-blank Nerf gun attack. Distance? Two feet. Target?
My actual eyeball.
Not the lid.
Not the cheek.
The eyeball.
The sound I made cannot be replicated in polite society. It was somewhere between a dying walrus and a banshee being evicted from a haunted house. My vision went blurry. "My eye started streaming like I was auditioning for the titanic scene where Rose, watching Jack disappear into the icy depths. Except in this version, the iceberg was a foam dart. "That hot, searing sting hit, and I knew: this wasn’t just a flesh wound. This was the beginning of my pirate era.
Perfect timing, too. The in-laws were due in 24 hours. I imagined greeting them in the doorway, one eye bloodshot, possibly wearing an eyepatch, looking like I’d just lost a bar fight with Captain Hook. Was it too late to ask for a fancy dress code?
I wish I could say I handled it with grace, that I took my son’s tiny hands in mine and whispered sage wisdom about accidents and forgiveness. But no. Instead, I unleashed The Voice. You know the one: “HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU?” peppered with classics like “WE DON’T AIM AT FACES” and “I TOLD YOU NOT TO SHOOT ME.” Then came my best Jack Sparrow run to the bathroom to assess the damage. Deep breathing over the sink, winking—accidentally—at myself in the mirror, I wondered whether the laser eye surgery I had in 2015 had been evaporated along with the £6,000 price tag.
Then came the tears. some from pain, some from mum-guilt, and some and some from picturing my New Year’s Eve photos featuring me with the unmistakable glamour of someone who’d just come down with an acute, party-ready case of pink eye.
By bedtime, my throat was raw, my eye was throbbing, and I’d failed the nurturing, zen master parenting persona I like to lean into. But here’s the thing: we all have those “full banshee” moments. The real trick is learning how to pull yourself back from the edge… preferably before the next foam bullet ambush.
Later that night, blinking through the pain of a Nerf dart lodged perilously close to my eyeball, courtesy of a six-year-old on a hyperactive mission. And in that slow-motion, slightly traumatizing moment, I had an important realization: if I was going to survive parenthood without screaming my way to early retirement or risking permanent eye damage, I needed a better strategy. Lucky for you (and for my eyeballs), I’ve distilled my hard-earned, slightly questionable, but surprisingly effective wisdom into five tips for keeping your cool when the kids push every last button. Are these scientifically proven? Nope. Are they powered by caffeine, sarcasm, and raw experience? Absolutely. Let’s jump in.
"Plotting world domination or just testing my reflexes one Nerf bullet at a time."
5 Tips to Keep Your Cool (Even When Your Kid Shoots You in the Eyeball)
1. Know your warning signs.
You can feel the “shout” coming, the clenched jaw, the fast heartbeat, the inner monologue that starts with “Are you kidding me?”. As soon as you notice those, do anything that slows your reaction, turn away, count to five, or take an exaggerated deep breath that makes your kid stare at you like you’ve lost it.
2. Have a “damage control” phrase ready.
Something like, “I’m too mad to talk right now, so I’m going to pause.” It’s not perfect parenting, but it’s a lot better than yelling something you regret. Bonus: kids actually learn that naming an emotional and taking a break when you’re angry is normal.
3. Tag in a distraction.
If you’re at boiling point, hand them a snack, point them at a Lego box, or shove them outside to run a lap of the garden. You’re not ignoring them you’re buying yourself 3–5 minutes to come down from Mount Doom.
4. Do the repair. (Aka: Making the magic happen)
Once you’ve calmed down, tell them what you were feeling and why you reacted that way, then say sorry if you need to. It’s not about being perfect, it’s showing them grown-ups get it wrong too, and we fix it.
5. Set yourself up for fewer flashpoints.
Sometimes shouting is a symptom of being completely fried. What’s one thing you can outsource, skip, or simplify this week to give yourself a bigger buffer? Less frazzled mum = less likely to yell over Nerf-related eye trauma.
Final Thoughts: Shouting happens, repairing the moment is where the parenting magic happens.
We’ve been sold this idea that being a stay-at-home mum is some kind of gift. And yes, it is a gift, but it’s also a full-blown identity crisis in pyjamas. Your house becomes your world. Your conversations revolve around snacks, school shoes, and the mysterious wet patch on the sofa. You wonder when you last had a thought that wasn’t about laundry, logistics, or what that smell is.
And still, you’re here.
Holding the house together.
Holding everyone together.
Even when you feel like you’re falling apart.
If you’ve ever survived a surprise attack from a six-year-old Nerf-wielding assassin, eye patch and all, and still managed to coordinate a New Year’s dinner, stop meltdowns, and flash a smile, I get you. Not because I’ve “mastered” parenting, but because I once took a Nerf dart square to the eyeball…and kept going. And I know you’ve had your own foam-dart-to-the-face moments. So let’s grab our coffee, brace for impact, and navigate this battlefield together. ☕💛
Love surviving this madness with me? Click the button below to buy me a coffee and help fund a new laptop, so I can keep documenting the chaos, one foam dart (and meltdown) at a time.
Love,
Diane x
PS: Still figuring it out, still winging it. Still mildly traumatised from the mini nerf wielding assign and temporary blindness in one eye. But hey, we’re doing our best! And that’s enough for me.