Sometimes I wonder if this is the whole point of parenting, right? My job is to show them the world, provide them with different/new/fun/educational/exciting experiences, and BLOW THEIR MINDS over ice skaters in the middle of downtown KC while traffic barrels down the street and the wind blows.
Job well done, self.
Of course, It's easy to congratulate myself on what goes right. The days spent together on day trips to the city. The books we read. The bubble baths that end in giant bathroom messes and squeaky clean bodies. It's much harder to forgive myself for what goes wrong. The stomping of feet. The yelling. The "I'm so tired I don't have an ounce of patience left" moments that come entirely too often and, let's be real, daily in our home especially for the Mama that gets up EVERY TWO HOURS with a baby (by herself) and then works three full days a week.
Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Most of the time our daily life really does overflow with happiness- if they could just please all stop waking me up before 7 am, remember to take their shoes off in the living room and quit jumping on the couch, and if they want to live another day KEEP THE FLIPPIN' LEGOs PICKED UP.
You have your dreams. I have mine.