Grumpy

I can tell everyone I know (and everyone on the Internet) how much I love my kids, how happy I am to stay home, and how much fun we have together until I'm blue in the face, but I still have not found a way to keep my temper throughout each and every day.

The baby cries, Nolan runs circles around the baby, encouraging more crying, Rison whines that he wants to set out on an impossible expedition involving fishing rods, ice cream bars, and super-jet packs. Meanwhile the project that I'm behind on intrudes into my dreams during the night and my every martyred thought as I pick up socks, towels, dog food pieces scattered on the kitchen floor, Pokemon cards, candy wrappers, and crayons. Diversions for the boys so that I can escape to the computer give me only a few minutes at best and at worst create messes that take three times those few minutes to deal with.

And yet. I'm here. I'm not in an office doing work I hate. I'm not working the drive-through window. I can sit down in the rocking chair and pick up the tractor book and they will come running at the sound of my voice. I can write about my frustrations and my disappointments with myself, take a deep breath, look out my window at our backyard and recall what a blessed life we are living. We have room to spread out in our house. We are healthy. We are curious, loving, secure, and together. We are okay.

Deep breath. We are okay. Deep breath.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.