A spell alone - and the bed time clash

I want to put into words what it's like being alone with 8 month old twins and a lively 6 year old in my terraced house (that now resembles a Lego workshop come over zealous charity shop with piles of clothes and plastic bags in the corners) but the unpredictable high voltage intensity seems to have short circuited my mind and now I can't remember the relentless succession of events that makes you feel you are running at high tilt from magma that may well do a Pompeii on you. 

Or it's a sort of morse code not 'dot dot dash dash' but 'poo poo feed feed scream scream' all underlined by L, prod prod the babies don't don't listen listen to me...but open other people's presents, cut own fringe, kick rubbish bag and beat the metal bin with homemade mallet and generally make me feel I have totally lost any parental grip. 

But worst of all L makes any remaining grain of patience rise like a fiery geezer and explode forth bursting the odd remaining microcosm of control or calm. And mostly my heart races and I feel sick but sometimes I shout "do NOT kick the rubbish" in a stern way and then I try to grapple a bit of 'better parenting' back saying "oh but why are you doing it?... what do you feel?" It's feeble, said as an after thought and he looks at me perplexed. I suspect he feels like me and wants to hide or sleep or move into someone else's peaceful functioning life for at least an hour. 

There was a fairly typical moment last night when L began to get very hyper. He needed to get ready for bed but the girls needed their wash and bottle and I probably only have 10m before spiralling crying would unfold. But where to put them while I calmed L as they now flip roll and generally catapult themselves off beds. So I decide to take them with me into his room thinking his vast collection of soft toys could act as distraction and a baby barrage. It sort of worked except L was squeezing their thighs a little hard and playing with an elaborate Lego construction between the girls. Then I tried to get him to put his pjs on, asking 5 times and feeling the anxiety rising dramatically. Then R starts crying then W. I pile toys up in the hope they won't fall off the bed and dash to make a bottle. Then back and I prop W up against a pillow to feed, shoving a bottle at her at a tilt and grasp R to breast feed, I can sense Ls annoyance he scowls and still not in pjs makes more macabre Lego contraptions within W's reach. R is far too distracted by the general excitement so having started breast feeding pulls away and my milk shoots everywhere all over her clean top and face. I try to drag her back but she does the same... suck, twist, drag, release... more milk everywhere and I feel totally done in and it's only PHASE 1 of the prolonged bedtime scene.