We have two pet ducks, and my kids adore them, taking care of them with enthusiasm. When we brought them home a year ago, I agreed to cover their food, hay, and other needs, but my teenagers were responsible for the daily chores. This included cleaning up after the ducks, feeding them, gathering their eggs, and ensuring they had fresh water to splash around in—a must for ducks.
Unfortunately, the cleaning part has been a struggle. Ducks can be surprisingly messy! They love to wander around our yard, and while I can manage the holes they dig in exchange for keeping the mosquito population down, I draw the line at them lounging on our front porch. Their presence up there, combined with the fact that they relieve themselves every fifteen minutes, is just too much for me to handle.
When I noticed my kids neglecting to clean the porch while still finding time to craft outfits for the ducks, I knew I had to step in. Then I discovered they were using my cherished white dishes to feed them. I had bought proper duck feeders, yet they were drawn to the sound of porcelain. So, when I found my favorite bowl—long cherished—cracked and soiled in the coop, I lost it on my kids.
I’m talking about one of those outbursts where you end up hoarse from yelling. My children seem to think I’m a ticking time bomb, and I often worry that they only hear me shouting. But then I reflect on how many times I’ve politely asked them to avoid using my favorite mug or to clean up the mess around the porch. I’ve tried every approach: calm requests, joking nudges, and even promises of ice cream for a clean-up. I’ve tied their chores to things they want me to buy, yet the results were still lacking.
This situation is only one example of the ongoing battles we face over keeping their rooms tidy, submitting homework on time, taking out the trash, and folding laundry. As mothers, we reach a point where we can no longer contain our frustration. After repeatedly asking our families to pitch in and feeling ignored, we inevitably lose our cool.
So, I yelled. I voiced all the frustrations I had bottled up, making it clear that I felt invisible and taken for granted. After my outburst, my kids stormed off to their rooms, and I needed some time to cool down before facing them again. It’s tough to admit, but we’ve all been there.
Eventually, they came down one by one. My son scrubbed the porch and took out the trash. They returned the random dishes from the coop and tidied their rooms. Afterward, we all went for shakes, riding in silence. But after some time (and sugar), we managed to reconnect.
Sometimes it takes raising my voice to get my kids to shape up. I don’t feel like an inadequate parent for losing it; I simply know that sometimes it’s the only way to get through to them. I hate that it reaches this point, but it’s the reality of our household. While I may feel guilty about raising my voice, I don’t regret it because it tends to yield results, and sometimes, that’s all that matters.
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