One day at a time

Phew! Today was a doozie. I'm still recovering from a minor head cold from this weekend and wasn't in the mood for what my boys were bringing. And it got brought. Mack is teething and I wish that effing tooth would just show up already and stop making my life difficult. Kale, well, he's just a sweetheart, thank you God! And, now that he's 3 (I've said it before...) he's a lot more verbal. So, I do A LOT more explaining and repeating myself. Because...HELLO MOM! Do you not know that everything is frickin' hilarious and up for debate?!?! And I laugh. But, that doesn't help for when I've reached my limit. I get louder. and louder. AND LOUDER---until it gets to him. I don't want to be a yeller.

Linda Lee's post today hit home. Especially this part:

"this job is mission-critical, this is not a job where you fuck around, this is the job of caring for the people I love more than anything on this earth and if I am a screwup at this then there is no hope for me at all. On the one hand, I think that this job can be hard as hell, and if I sometimes feel resentful and selfish and impatient, maybe that just means I’m human. On the other, I think it’s shameful to admit that, because this is what I signed up for —

and my god, this life is so good."

And it is. So. fucking. good. With that, I breathe a little deeper and relish in the fact that I get to do it all over again tomorrow. It's a new day. Another chance. With my own new expectations. I may not be a complete success, but I'll do better. And the next day a little better than the day before. That's all I can hope for. But, I wouldn't trade this time for any other.

As Keith was carting Mack off to bed, he kept calling out to me "Ma-ma" "Ma-ma". My heart swelled. I heard my little boy say my name in his own voice for the first time. It had meaning behind it. It wasn't jibberish. It's the first of many times he'll call for me, but the first time is always special. I'll remember it forever.