These kids don't just drive me crazy.
Don't get me wrong, they can make me batshit insane, from time to time.
And sometimes I get so frustrated with them I could cry.
There's definitely no shortage of the overwhelming feeling that no matter how hard I watch Ciaran, it's that one time when we take our eyes off of him for a minute, that all hell will break loose. Not because he's intentionally destructive or harmful, mind you, but because he's just so unaware of the potential consequences of his actions. And because that's what happens.
But these people who live in my house, they are my world. They are the cream in my coffee. The coffee that I need lots of in order to do my job. I love them so much. I'm afraid that gets lost sometimes in the daily frustrations I write about.
I don't want complaining about my kids to become a habit. I don't even really want to complain about them. I don't want to become some sort of reverse teenager who complains about her kids now, instead of her parents, and misses what a gift this time is, even if I have peanut butter in my hair, and four loads of laundry left to do.
Sometimes there are things that could go better. Weeks that could be shorter. Cooperation that could be given. Things that could be done the first time I ask.
But they are champion level cuddlers. The give lots of hugs and kisses. They care about me, and how I'm feeling. They take care of each other. They're good people.
And I am so freaking lucky, every day, that I get to be their mom.
Now I just need to be the mom they deserve. I'm going to need more coffee for that.
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