Keep calm.

It's early. The boys didn't go back to bed this morning, like they normally do and I'm crossing my fingers Danny will be napping soon so I can coax Morgan to stay still for a while with Curious George, while I doze off for a little longer. Of course, I'm tired. What's new?


By the time Jar got home from work on Valentine's, I was in tears. Morgan has been a severe three year-old these last two weeks and we'd like to turn the corner soon. Because, you know that's how it works. Stages. But I think we're stuck with rotten for a while. And there's nothing poetic about it. It blows. Fits and hitting and yelling and screaming and the 'I'll do it my way or no way' sorts. (#killmenow.)

Well, of course, with some spousal clarity, we patched what was broken that night, and we carried on.  (As it turns out, your kids act much better when you feed them.)

Last night I went away for a few hours. (It was needed.) When I came back, Morgan came running from his room, wrapped himself around my legs and said, "I miss you so much!" But that wasn't what melted me. A few minutes later, he climbed up behind me on the couch, put his arms around my shoulders and swayed me side to side, and then he sang to me the entire Rockabye song I made up for him when he was a baby. He knew every word!

I spent the next half hour with him, laying in his bed, listening to him sing every song he knew (Five Little Ducks, Once There Was a Snowman, I Am a Child of God, Barney's I love you, Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes and Caillou's theme song.) It was sweet and endearing to hear his precious little voice. It was one of those heaven-sent moments that added a few drops to a cup more empty than full lately. 

I love my babies, even though they exhaust me, age me, fatten me, and make me a little crazy sometimes. The miracle in it all is that surprisingly, even when I'm impatient and awful and mean, they still love me.  I suppose a deal is a deal.

I'll mother, if you'll still be my child.

We'll carry on!