Breath

Breath.
The 4.5 year old is whining and crying because he once again has a fever and feels like crap.
Breath.
The 6.5 year old is running around like a feral cat because it is time to get ready for bed.  Getting ready for bed is obviously the worst possible thing in the world and must be avoided at all costs.
Breath.
The 17 month old is acting like a total goof.  She keeps trying to get the 4.5 year old to play with her, but he feels like crap and keeps screeching in response.
Breath.
I love my children.  I am grateful that they are part of my life.  These moments though, the ones where it feels like I’m in the middle of a riot, overwhelm me. 
I have to take a step back and breath. 
Collect myself. 
Look at the picture from a different angle.
Start the moment over.

Or,  maybe get rescued by my husband when he walks through the door from work.  That works too.

Later tonight,  when they are all  sleeping,  I will gaze at them as they have adventures in their dreams.  Sometimes I get glimpses of those dreams when the boundary between dreamland and reality is blurred. Someone will sit up and mumble about swords,  or bring their hand to their mouth as they snack on something delicious.  I giggle thinking about it.

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Tomorrow is a new day.  New discoveries.  New trials.  New inventions.  New frustrations.  The key is learning to work through it all together.  Learning to communicate effectively with one another. Someday that will happen,  maybe. 

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