Monday, January 23, 2012

Of course, now as I type this the youngest is crying in her crib instead of napping

I am feeling slightly better about the whole raging 3 year old. 

It’s just that when things go wrong I feel them with my whole body and it plagues everything.  I doubt myself and my role in this world and I doubt my abilities and my strength. 

And usually I cry a lot.

But today, so far, has been spectacular. 

We’ve all played together.  He’s been helpful, hanging up his pants on the hangers all by himself and picking up toys when asked, without screaming and stomping around and possibly flinging said toys into oblivion.  We’ve ridden bikes and jumped and used our ‘lightsabers’ to get the bad guys. 

We’ve had lunch that was at least moderately healthy, if you count the apples and carrots we had and ignore the turkey dogs.

We’ve had fun.  And danced and laughed and played and there has been zero cause for me to raise my voice. 

And the littlest one was right in the middle of it all, singing and playing alone or all together with the oldest one.

And he’s currently in bed.  Not sleeping but at least not making too much noise up there.

Days like these I feel like I can do it.

(I’m fairly certain I’ve said all of this before, but that’s because it’s a cycle that repeats itself over and over.  Also, I’m one of those old people who like to repeat their stories.  Your welcome.)

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