The worst kind of days

It's been a very rough few days around here. The kind of days where I am totally lost and all but hopeless when it comes raising my kids. Is it me? Is it them? Does every mom have days when they just want to run far, far away?

I wish I could say that we've just had a couple of "off" days, but it seems to be so much more than that. I am questioning everything I do and think I know about parenting. Something just isn't right right now and no book description on Amazon has lead me to any hope of finding an answer.

At this point my only tiny sliver of hope is that there is a highly unlikely chance that Anderson's recent behavior can be linked to his recent prescription of Augmentin for his ear infections. As of last night he is off of the medicine and I am holding out hope for a new kid in the next day or two once the drug has completely left his system. Surely it is a far-fetched to believe such a thing could really be the cause of what can only be described as completely out of control behavior, but it is all I have right now. Because the thought of dealing with this for more than a couple more days is truly unbearable.

Tell me

It's not that I didn't know something was wrong, it's just that I didn't want to be that mom. The one who is over-bearing, over-protective, and over-worried about every little thing her kids do or do not do at certain ages. But I knew. I knew that at two years old Beck should have been speaking and I knew that he was behind. But still I waited. By two and nearly a half it had been long enough. After countless evaluations by his doctor, therapists, and social workers it was determined that Beck had a "severe" speech delay, with (thank God) no other developmental delays observed. News we could totally handle. It has been a many-months long process including state, private, and school district services, but we are finally seeing some real progress. Whereas just 4 months ago he had a vocabulary of just 8 comprehensible words (when 250+ is considered "normal") he now uses more words than we can even count. What we can understand, well, that is still far from normal, but there are words just the same. With twice weekly private therapy sessions and an upcoming evaluation through the school district in which an IEP will be put in place and services provided at a local elementary school, we hope to find him well within the "normal" range within the next year. Boy do we love this little guy. And now he can tell us he loves us, too. :)

There's something about Trader Joe's

Within the last 6 or so months, while shopping at Trader Joe's:

• Anderson pulled over a shopping cart on himself while Beck was sitting in the seat (5 firemen just happened to be there and came to our rescue)
• Anderson had a hysterical meltdown (kicking, screaming, most likely spitting) over not getting a second sample of something (God only knows what)
• Anderson nearly stole a bag of Trail Mix and a bag of Gummy Penguins (we walked back in and returned them)
• A woman pulled me aside in the freezer aisle just to say, "it's OK, we've all been there" as a reaction to the insanity (albeit usually joyful insanity) that is my two boys in a tiny grocery store, one of whom wields his own shopping cart haphazardly through the aisles
• I dropped a hundred dollar bill on the floor only to discover it was missing when I went to pay for my groceries (I am forever indebted to the nice woman with the "God bless!" voicemail who turned it in)
• An elderly woman got down at Anderson's level while I was singing/dancing in the aisle (it was Come on Eileen, for goodness sakes) and proclaimed, "your mom's a crazy lady!"
• I had to put groceries back at the checkout when I realized I had left my wallet at home and only had a twenty in my pocket (which of course made Anderson's day as he had a legitimate reason to sing "only got twenty dollars in my pocket"). This of course caused me to have a Terms of Endearment flashback to that scene where Debra Winger is mortified at the grocery when she doesn't have enough money and everyone stares at her as if she is some sort of incompetent mother who can't even afford to feed her kids. Oh, how I love, love, love that movie, but I digress.

And then, yesterday, the best of the best:

• I locked my keys, my cell phone, and my children in the car. My kids! Trapped in their car seats, talking (screaming) through the window, not even 1 minute after I had warned them against this very thing. (Seriously, just listen to me! I am wise!) It was quite a dilemma and thanks to the kindness of many strangers (and one kind of grouchy dad who lent me his cell phone) I remained calm and handled the situation. Unfortunately I apparently drive a "high security vehicle" ha! and AAA was proving to be a bit of a hassle (locksmith? since when can't you bend a coat hanger and open that sucker up?) so I did what I do best and called my parents to help. Fortunately it wasn't a terribly hot day and within 40 minutes or so my babies were in my arms once again. Needless to say, Anderson learned his lesson about not pushing the door lock button, "never again, mommy!". All's well that ends well.

And so, Trader Joe's, I shop with fear every single week for I know my days of cheap wine and milk are numbered. It's OK, I don't blame you. Clearly there is a black cloud that follows me on every trip. Who knows what damage we are capable of causing? Perhaps there is some sort of secret employee announcement when you see me walk in the door. She's here! Hide the samples! My only saving grace is that Trader Joe's is still the unpretentious, down-to-Earth grocery for nice, normal people and so far nobody has kindly suggested that I try doing my shopping at the Trader's down the street. Not yet, at least.

This

This afternoon, unsolicited and out of the blue:

Anderson: "Mommy, you're the best mommy in the whole wide world."

I needed that more than he will ever know.

Whits' end

Whit's end? Whits' end? Do I have more than one whit? I'm not sure. But, regardless, I'm at the end them (it). It has been a trying couple of weeks. Though, to be fair, maybe it's only been a week that just seems as if has gone on forever. Anderson's tantrums have reached epic proportions and I feel completely, utterly hopeless. My sweet, gentle, loving boy has been losing control and raging. Hard. It's as if he becomes consumed with frustration yet has no clue how to handle it and he just bursts. It absolutely breaks my heart. He says things he hopefully doesn't mean, kicks, screams, and cries. It is frightening, infuriating, and so very sad all at the same time and I feel totally conflicted about the entire thing. It has been the subject of nearly every conversation I have had recently, yet nothing seems to be changing. I have one side telling me that I need to stop the behavior immediately, yet they have no suggestions for doing so that have made any impact; and I have the other side that keeps telling me it is just a stage and it will go away on it's own. But how am I supposed to just carry on when my boy seems so sad and angry and I, myself, feel as if depression is going to set in at any moment? And how will that help in any way? At the core of it all I truly believe his behavior is a direct result of being over-tired from waking so freaking early in the morning, but how do I fix that? It just seems like one more issue I am battling to no avail. Trying to force a nearly four-year-old to nap is pretty much a joke and trying to force him back to sleep when he is wide awake at 5 am is even more ridiculous.

I just don't know. And I suppose there is no purpose to this post other than the fact that I just need to get it out. I need to let go of some of this stress I am feeling that makes me doubt my mothering skills more than a few dozen times a day. I cry, I read parenting books, I yell back, I cry some more, I am consistent, I try to love him through it, but nothing seems to help. I am helpless. When all you want to do is fix it, yet everything you do or say is met with nasty words and demands to get away, you lose all confidence.

Three has been hard. They say four will be better. We are just over two weeks away and I am trying desperately to hold onto that hope. That maybe this is the absolute bottom because I am not sure I can mentally go any lower and soon things will be on the upswing. That maybe we have seen the darkest days of toddler-hood and can soon begin to see the light. Today gave me a glimpse. Not a harsh word, a frown, nor a "no" from my sweet boy. Today was a day of smiles, laughter, and crazy-good behavior. Today restored my confidence, if only enough to be able to face tomorrow.

At the end of a long day...

It was the roughest of afternoons, complete with tantrums, screaming, and tears from all of us. The kind of afternoon that leaves you questioning every parenting decision and doubting the impact of every word that passes your lips. The kind of afternoon where your almost 2 year-old pushes back in his chair at dinner despite your repeated warnings and flings himself backwards onto the ground and all you can think is oh my gosh, I am going to lose my freaking mind if I don't get just 30 seconds of peace in this house.

But now the boys are in bed and at least one of them is asleep and I am taking a moment to just breathe. Seems when you have a late afternoon meltdown because you are so tired and subsequently fall asleep while tantruming in your beanbag it takes a bit longer to fall asleep. I am flipping the monitor back and forth between their rooms and just letting my heart swell a little as I watch Beck sleep soundly and, although not even close to falling asleep, Anderson happily play with his dinosaurs and babble to himslef in his bed (last I checked he was counting to thirty?).

It's funny how these days always end the same, with me sitting and watching them, glued to the monitor with the happiest of hearts. It's almost as if these terrible, nearly unbearable hours moments are thrown in the mix for that very reason. Tomorrow is a new day and will, undoubtedly, bring a few challenges of its own but at least I know at the end of every not-so-hot day there is peace. Even if it does only come after they are behind closed doors for the night.

Mad

"Daddy, I'm mad at mommy!"
It was 5:15 am and almost too early to care, but I did. I do. Telling us he is angry or upset or sad is nothing new, but expressing anger specifically at me? Well, I guess it's a sign he is growing up faster than I can even fathom. How quickly these entirely dependent, emotionally immature little creatures grow into their own independent, free-thinking little selves capable of not only experiencing, but identifying a whole range of emotions far beyond the "I'm sad" and "I'm mad" of toddlerdom. Here we go...

Oh, and the reason for the anger? He wanted me to read to him at 5:15 am. In the dark. While I was asleep. And while I am sure every other mother in the universe would have joyfully sprung up and put on their best children's librarian voice to really bring life to the iPad story of how dinosaurs came to their ultimate demise before the sun was even considering rising, I simply did not want to. And I faked it. And that, to an almost 4 year old, is infuriating. He stomped off and told me he was "getting out of here", to which I may or may not have replied (under my breath, of course) "good, just let me sleep".

Ralph

Ralph showed up bright and early Saturday morning as he does every year in the week following Thanksgiving. He's a sneaky little guy, that elf, and we never know quite when he'll find his way home. He keeps an eye on all of us throughout the days leading up to Christmas and makes sure that we are all on our best behavior. He's kind of the best thing that happens all year and, quite frankly, we start talking about him pretty early around here.

The funny thing about Ralph and all of his elf friends is all the controversy around them. Who knew these little guys could cause such a ruckus? They are just Christmas elves, for goodness sake. I keep hearing about parents who are overly concerned about the message being sent by "lying to their kids" and by telling their kids the elf is watching them and reporting their behavior to Santa. People who find the whole idea manipulative and wrong.  I've even heard that the whole concept is outrageous because giving should not be associated with behavior. Which, in my mind, is ridiculous because giving should be directly related to behavior. Why would anyone want to reach out and give to people who are ill-behaved? And who doesn't want to go out of their way to help and reward those who are honorable, respectable, and well-mannered?  Are these people not being, perhaps, a bit over-dramatic? He's an elf. He's Santa's helper. How else can Santa "see you when you're sleeping and know when you're awake"? Or maybe these people are the same ones who don't allow their children to believe in Santa. And is there anything more sad, really?

My kids are little. They love Santa. They love everything about the Christmas. Yes, they understand it's Jesus' birthday (well, as much as they can at this age anyway, though Anderson has been singing "Happy Birthday" for a few days now to get ready for the "big party"). Yes, I teach them that is a time to give and be grateful and enjoy everything with which they have been blessed. And they also believe in Ralph, the magic Christmas elf who watches their every move and flies home to the North Pole every night to give the big guy a full report on the day's happenings. It's fun. And every morning Anderson eagerly looks for Ralph to see where he has decided to perch himself for the day. Though, sadly, there are sometimes days where Ralph doesn't move at all because maybe he just had such a great view the day before. And sometimes, just maybe, there are frantic early morning text messages confirming Ralph's arrival because it is a well-known fact that Ralph is one of Santa's lazier helpers and sometimes he just doesn't feel like making the long journey up north. Yes, that totally happens.

And so we welcome Ralph, master manipulator. Because for the 24 days leading up to Christmas there are few things that work better to straighten Anderson's attitude than the threat of walking up to Ralph and whispering in his ear. In just the same way I was afraid of Santa seeing me throw a temper tantrum, Anderson is afraid of receiving a bad report. If that makes us bad parents, so be it. I'm sure we have done worse. Magic is magic at any time of the year and maybe those parents who find such things to be detrimental and manipulative just need to remember what it is like to be little and to believe.

Sleepy

On Thursday morning Beck decided that 3:53 am was just as good an hour as any to wake up and start the day. Anderson wasn't too far behind him at 5:15 due to some over zealous squeals as Beck and Gabe played downstairs. All of this probably would have been fine as my alarm goes off at 5 am every day to get up and ready for work, but of course this was one of only a few late start days where I didn't have to be up until 5:45, 6 if I were feeling particularly sleepy. Needless to say Beck was already down for his first nap before I left the house at 6 am.

On Thursday night Anderson snuck into our bed around 11:45. Seems his feet were cold and he has yet to understand that pulling up the covers is an easy fix. Though Gabe hadn't even come up yet I was quickly relegated to an 18 inch edge or my should-be-large-enough-for-2 king size bed. He stayed all night and miraculously stayed asleep but I woke up with a crick in my neck that is still lingering 4 days later. A good mom always gives her babies the good pillows, right?

Friday night I was so excited to go to bed I could hardly stand it. But somewhere around 8 pm Beck began to fuss and ultimately cry and could not be quieted for more than a few minutes at a time. This went on for hours. Hours. I tried to let him cry it out as it seemed that he only wanted attention because the second we picked him up he would fall asleep. Being the terrible mother I am I finally turned the monitor off sometime after 10. I was too tired. At 2:30 I was awoken by Gabe holding Baby Beck who had apparently been awake since I tuned him out. Mother of the year? He was inconsolable but finally gave into little stretches of sleep snuggled up in between us. He awoke often for the rest of the night, but at least we were in bed and he was sleeping peacefully when he was, in fact, asleep. Clearly something was wrong, but there was nothing we could see, hear, or feel. Turns out he had a cold by mid-morning yesterday and must have just been feeling miserable. I assume he wanted to sleep while being held because he probably had pressure in his little head that was compounded when lying down. Poor guy.

Sleep or lack thereof is not something I usually complain about, but those few nights in a row made for one grumpy mama. Thankfully once we had things all figured out and were able to get everyone the correct amount of covers, potions, and elixirs we got a long night of sleep last night. Both kids even slept in which is so, so rare.

It's such a guessing game, parenthood is. So often it is a matter of trying to rule out and piece things together in an effort to understand why things have suddenly changed or been interrupted. Sometimes my hunches are right, but most of the time I feel I am just taking a shot in the dark. Maybe sometimes there is no reason at all for certain disruptions to their normal routines. Who knows. When in doubt, however, I always blame teeth. Because that seems to be what every other mom uses to explain away undesirable behaviors, right?

That picture was most definitely NOT taken this past weekend, but rather one summer day when sleep was all that Beck wanted to do.

The Grouchies

There is no doubt in my mind that as soon as I write this a temper tantrum will arise, but one thing I know about having little kids is that it's all about celebrating the little things- the fleeting moments and the small victories that occur on a daily basis that somehow encourage within us a strength to keep on going even when things are rough.

It seems that Anderson has been suffering from a fairly severe case of the grouchies lately, not unlike the boy in the book. Have we read it one too many times, perhaps?!  It could be the fairly new school schedule, the relentless heat, or the fact that he wakes up at an ungodly hour but whatever it is it seemingly consumes him somewhere around 12:30 in the afternoon, just as I walk in the door from work. It begins with cries for me to "go away", "I only like Daddy", etc. and continues with a nasty attitude, attempts to smack anything in sight and inevitably quite a few tears. Fortunately this little episode does not last for all that long and I can usually bring it down to normal by working my magic to "just get get the grouchies out, Mommy!", but it takes its toll. I have been sad, tired, and just plain grumpy myself after dealing with this on a daily basis. Couple this with an 18 month old who needs constant attention and I am spent. Even after it is over and I get a kiss and a "Don't worry, Mommy, I'm all done. The grouchies are gone now" I am somehow still able to shake it and come back to 100%.

But as depressing as those afternoons were last week, this little guy has been incredibly loving, snuggling, and cooperative for the last few days. Unexpected kisses, an incessant giggle, and the sweetest words have brought me back. I am so happy and so in love with my little boys. Sometimes a hug is all the affirmation you need that you are not as bad a mama as you lead yourself to believe.

Rewards

I didn't really think it would come to this, but yesterday afternoon after about two weeks of sleepless nights and back-talk and power struggles I whipped out my sharpies, bought some stickers, and created a rewards chart for Anderson (who really seems to be getting a lot of attention these days, primarily because of his naughty behavior) in an effort to somehow take some control of the situation.

I tried to keep it simple, with only five categories, and I made the first reward totally attainable- 5 stickers and you get a Hot Wheel. And he LOVES it. Crossing fingers behind my back that it will last more than 2 days because anything that seems to work never seems to last more than 2 days!!! He could not wait to eat dinner and finish it all to get his first sticker and things have gone well ever since. I started with the eating dinner box because, well, he almost always eats his dinner and I wanted him to feel successful right away. Others are tougher- he has yet to earn a sticker for pooping on the potty or for sharing his toys all day long (though today he came close). The best part? He SLEPT ALL NIGHT last night. The first thing he said to me this morning was "Mommy, I get a sticker!).

As of tonight there were already 5 stickers up, but I told him the Hot Wheel depends on whether or not he makes it through the night without calling for me at 2 am. I have never been so excited for the possibility a trip to Target in all my life. Please, please let him sleep all night, Mommy is so very tired.

From one extreme to another

The weekend 2 weekends ago was perfection. Seriously, the best it could be. So much so that I am still thinking about it 2 weeks later. We did nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special, but for 2 days the boys were just amazing. Beck was happy, took super long naps, and let me move from room to room without so much as a whimper. Anderson was helpful, polite, funny, and just plain good. On Sunday evening when Gabe came home from work and after they were both asleep I made the mistake of letting him know just how good they had been once again (he was home with us all day on Saturday to bear witness). Because parenting rule number one is that you never, never speak out loud about the good things your kids do. You don't talk about how they all of a sudden start sleeping 12 hours straight or how they shy away from sweets and over indulge in veggies; for the very moment an utterance of some great breakthrough is made it is a well-known fact it will never occur again. Not only that, but the complete opposite will happen if for no other reason than to prove to you, mama, that you have absolutely no control and that you are simply an observer of this game known as toddler-hood.

And you know what? The next morning was misery. Complete misery. I'm not even sure what happened or where things began to fall apart Beck's non-existent morning nap? Anderson's 5 am wake-up call?, but they fell apart quickly. And of course we had plans. Of course. Because if rule number one is to never speak of anything good your child does, then rule number two is most definitely that you never make plans for tomorrow because your child is acting liking an angel today. Never. But I've been reading a book lately that mentioned something about how you shouldn't cancel your plans due to bad behavior (something about it then ruining everyone's day and maybe they would have been really good had you just followed through, blah, blah, blah) and so on we went. After multiple time-outs, screaming matches, arguments, and many, many tears from all parties involved (yes, many from me as well) we got in the car and headed to the beach for my first ever "take the kids to the beach all by myself" day. And it was a great day. Getting out of the house despite the screaming and kicking was the best thing we could have done.

Every day I see moms with kids the ages of my own that seem to have it all figured out. Their kids are well-mannered, the moms are put together and smiling, and life just seems like bliss. Is it possible? Does that even exist? Can you be a normal, well-adjusted child without going through these phases? I'm not so sure. My dad said to me just last night that anyone who hasn't gone through this with their kids is just lying and I am pretty sure he is right. Sure, different parents will handle things differently (I'm winning no award for patience these days), but kids are kids. They tantrum, they test boundaries, they try to make sense of a world where they are constantly being told what to do and how to do it. Little kids can and will just be downright naughty sometimes.

The next time I see Miss Trendy Mom with perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect children I will remind myself that she, too, has bad days with her kids just like the rest of us. That they have rotten days and that she no doubt raises her voice. And maybe she sometimes even has to lock herself in the bathroom for a couple of minutes just to get away from the chaos. Because don't we all do that at some point?

856

The average numbers of times I begin a sentence with either "no", "don't" or "stop" on any given day. No joke. I counted. Well, maybe not exactly, but that number sounds about right.

photo by Natalie Moser

Father's Day

Hmmm...well, it seems I more than a bit late with this one, but is it really ever too late to celebrate? I say no. So celebrate I will a pretty great guy who just so happens to also be pretty much the best dad ever. As I type this I am reminded of the Seinfeld episode in which Jerry's dad and Izzy Mandelbaum nearly come to blows over which is in fact better: World's Greatest or #1 Dad. And I am fairly certain that most normal people would neither understand nor appreciate this reference, but since my husband is exactly half of all the people who read this blog and he will totally get it, I am mentioning it. Right, honey? But I digress...I guess you really never know the type of father your husband will be until its already a bit too late. The truth is I got really lucky and my kids have one awesome daddy.

Gabe, I love you through and through and I admire you for all that you are to our boys. You are their world and in their eyes you do absolutely no wrong. Ever. You are the easy-going parent, the push-over, and the candy-giver. You are "the nice one". I watch you as you make memories with your boys daily and it I am grateful. I love you. We love you. Happy Father's Day (again).

Regression

Dear Baby Beck,
Please, please, please can we have just a little bit more of this?

While you have never been an amazing sleeper, you have always been a good one. Random nights here and there would find you waking, but you've always calmed down and gone back to sleep quickly with a little head rubbing and a paci, at most. But these last two weeks. Oh, these last two weeks! I swear it has been like having a newborn in the house all over again. Except louder. And more un-relenting.

It started when you got sick (which is also the same time we changed your mattress which Daddy swears is the culprit). As you were getting better, so was your sleep. Until you hurt your leg last week. Since then it has been something different every night. Some nights you don't want to go to sleep in the first place, others you wake multiple times, others you wake up and want to stay up (for the record, I was not at all happy waking up and starting my day at 3:40 am on Sunday morning Saturday night?).

I'm not sure what the issue is. At first I assumed you were in pain and that broke my heart. Of course I went in, picked you up, rocked you, whatever. Now, however, it seems you have just gotten used to us coming in and fussing over you in the middle of the night. You most definitely have us wrapped around your little finger. How else do you explain the smiles and giggles as soon as we come in and the blood-curdling screams when we leave?

Tonight you took forever falling asleep and I am now attempting to re-Ferberize you (though Daddy can't stand it and always goes in and cuddles you). You are finally down for who knows how long. Please let it be until morning. Please. I have said a prayer, crossed my fingers, and knocked on wood. That's got to count for something, right?

All I know is I am tired. Very, very tired. I already get up at 5 am so these lost minutes that are turning into hours of sleep every night are beginning to wear on me. I love you so very much, but this has got to stop. Tonight. Or I just may lose my mind. Seriously.

xo,
Mommy

Patience

These days I have little patience left and the little bit that exists is thin, at best. When I had Anderson I was amazed at the amount of patience I had, with what I could endure with a smile on my face. Days would pass without the slightest bit of annoyance swelling inside me. Enter Baby Beck. I noticed it immediately. From the moment I brought him home I was edgier, with a fuse about the length of a birthday candle. He has never been a difficult baby, it's just that where I seemed to be able to keep my emotions in check when there was only one little human running around, it became much more difficult to maintain balance now that there were two.

I suppose like everyone, I have good days and bad. Today having been particularly bad. Which isn't really fair to say as the day went fairly smoothly with only one major Anderson melt-down before napping; but this afternoon brought me to the brink. With a one year old who napped all of about 30 minutes, dinner on the stove, and a 3 year old freaking out at the as soon as the "it's almost time to go" song on Yo Gabba Gabba began, it was like the perfect storm.

These moments come and I try to talk myself down. I count, I try look at it from the outside in, I breath deeply, but when the whining won't stop and the tv is blaring and dinner is about to burn (and the phone is ringing, seriously?) I just lose it. I become grouchy, loud, and more than likely, scary-faced. I just want a moment. Just. One. Moment. to gather my composure, to sit and decompress. But there is no moment. Not even a possibility of one. Because to take that moment would mean to let dinner burn. To ignore my baby who might actually be whining for a reason. To risk taking that moment for granted and using it to run away. Not really. But maybe?

And so I turn into a not nice mommy. The kind who is snappy and sighing and trying her hardest to not say all of the naughty words that are filling her head. And I feel terrible for it. I apologize profusely for raising my voice and try to cover up my mood as best I can. But when nobody is in the room I just may release. I may even throw a letter magnet across the room which just may knock over the little bug catcher in which resides resided a half-dead rather large spider. Where he is now, I do not have the energy to care.

It's not everyday. I need to remind myself of this. But it is nearly every day like today. Days where, by 6:00 I have already grocery shopped, made cookie bars, walked to and back from my parents' with the kids for breakfast and handled a fairly epic meltdown along the way, done 2 loads of laundry, made a homemade shower cleaner and scrubbed the gross shower, planted plants, assembled, wrapped, and delivered a birthday gift, gone to the park, ridden bikes around the neighborhood, played choo choos and construction site, made dinner from scratch, cleaned the kitchen about 47 times, and bathed and put 2 kids to bed all while Gabe is at work. These are the days that make me feel defeated. That make me feel I have not one bit of myself left to give.

And then, Baby Beck throws himself into me to snuggle and Anderson grabs my leg and says, "Mommy, I love you" and the day melts away. At least a large part of it, anyway.

There are so many moms that do ten times what I do in a day with way more children and wear a smile the entire time. And I am glad for them. Truly in awe. But I cannot pretend that my life is not at times overwhelming. That though it may not seem like much to manage it has me questioning my choices and decisions every day.

I love my kids and my life beyond words. But sometimes they both drive me crazy. Seriously crazy.  Thank goodness I made those cookie bars.