Those mornings when the preschooler is crying because you had the audacity to pick out something for her to wear and the older one is shooting you piercing looks because you woke him for something as trivial as school.
It is the same morning that you woke up late because you think you are fighting off whatever sickness one of them gave you and your whole body hurts. Why can't they give you a clean room instead of the flu?
In the midst of all of this chaos, I crawled into my kid's bed and just laid there wondering why I was given these little lives to nurture and guide. I feel like I am failing left and right. Yelling to get things done when I know damn well that is not going to work. Counting to five to calm myself so much I have to wonder if the kids know I can count higher.
How can she be so tiny and so willful!
My mom was not a yeller, she was a thrower and whatever was at hand - shoes, books, toys, a hard hand slap. I thought, I will not hit my kids and I don't, I yell. I caught sight of myself in the mirror one day and vowed to not yell at them again. Yell, to them just not at them. I had stopped, but not this morning. Not on the morning when I woke up late, the kids won't get up, I feel like a truck hit me, and everybody hates me.
It is so easy to forget, when everything is falling apart, that we decided to have these little humans and they will remember, forever, how we made them feel. How can I can I expect cooperation if I am make them feel bad first?
This was a bad morning. No all mornings are like this, but my heart just melts when I hear a small voice, out of nowhere say, "mom, I love you," even after they see me at my worst.
I don't deserve their love, sometimes. And, sometimes, I wish we could just go back to bed and start again.