The bad parenting habit I wish I could break

My middle child is a sensitive soul. At 7, Paul still loves to crawl into my lap and hear a story. He is artistic and thoughtful. Paulie loves animals, especially birds. When I told him he should become an ornithologist, he said, no, that his job simply would be to take care of baby birds.

On the flip side, Paul is the only one of my boys who ever minded when I left him someplace, and boy did he mind. He would throw grand tantrums when I dropped him off at preschool. I'm not talking a few tears. I mean he would follow me, howling, grabbing onto me in an effort to prevent my departure. I think I'm still scarred from those memories. Even dropping him off on the first day of summer school this year, Paul was a little weepy. Yes, he takes a bit to warm up, but he's a loyal and attentive friend.

I suppose it's fitting, then, that Paul is the one who is most sensitive to my yelling. Ben just kind of rolls his eyes when I raise my voice or gets angry right back, Gus seems oblivious most of the time (though of late he's been parroting his brothers - "OK, OK, you don't have to yell!"), but Paul takes it personally.

Paul and Gus's summer school classes start at 7:45, and though that's just 30 minutes earlier than the normal school day, it's really hard to get out the door on time. It seems that it's always a mad rush. The other morning, I was trying to guide Gus into putting on his own shoes. Paul started laughing at his brother and distracting him. "Paul! Stop it!" I roared.

Instantly, my boy looked wounded. On the way into school, I apologized to Paul for yelling. "That's OK, I forgive you," he said sweetly. When I get it wrong, I always take the opportunity to explain to the boys and say I'm sorry. Thank God for forgiveness.

It seems that even when I think I'm in control of my emotions, Paul can pick up on my irritation. We were trying to leave the house to eat supper at my parents' last week. I had asked the boys to put their shoes on (we have a lot of battles over shoes in this house, I notice) and they'd ignored me. Ben did something to Paul, and he got hurt. Paul was whimpering, still shoeless. I don't even recall what it was, but I was not feeling too sympathetic.

"Paul. Put on your shoes, and get in the car," I intoned.

"You're talking to me in an angry voice!" he sobbed.

I wasn't. I was taking great pains not to shout. But he's so attuned, I guess he can even pick up on it when I'm being passive aggressive. Man, I can't get away with anything.

The summer can be a challenging time around here. Togetherness breeds bickering, and I spend a lot of time resolving disputes. I'm perpetually reminding the boys to shut the door. It's a stupid thing to get worked up about, but yet it makes me tense every day.

The boys love to play in our sandbox. On Tuesday, Paul and Gus came into the house caked in the stuff up to their knees. Immediately before that, Gus had tried to clean himself off using the hose. It was spraying full-blast, and he couldn't control it and kept accidentally spraying himself in the face and aiming it at the screen door. I couldn't even get to him for fear that I'd be doused. I suppose it would have been if I hadn't been so livid. Here's what the tub looked like after Paul and Gus's midday bath.

Yelling is a terrible parenting habit, and I'm ashamed to say that I do it too often. I suppose it's mostly borne of simple frustration. Also, I probably resort to shouting to make myself heard over the voices of three boisterous kids. Either way, I hate that I do it but have a hard time stopping.

I have a whole collection of books that I mean to read but never get around to cracking: a tome on the purpose of boys, various self-help titles. Do you think if I put my Scream-Free Parenting book on my nightstand that I'll absorb its contents by osmosis? I have lots of books situated there, and unfortunately that magic hasn't happened for me yet.

Until I get around to finding a solution that works for me, I guess I'll just keep renewing my daily pledge to myself to stop the shouting, not to mention seeking a lot of forgiveness. Needless to say, this is important to me. When the boys look back on their childhood, I want them to remember a mom who was calm and loving, not one who was on edge all the time.

So what do you think? Got any keep-your-cool strategies for me?