I told myself I would post regularly, at least twice a week, beginning 2016. Unfortunately, my body said, "It's time to take a break," and I have spent most of the first week of 2016 sick and poorly.
And that's actually what this one is about.
There have been so many days when I've felt I failed as a parent. My son doesn't behave as well as I would like him to, he yells, he hits, I've yelled and hit back (and then immediately regretted it but can't show my son lest it destroy any semblance of order that we have even further). We've shed tears apart, and together. I've felt the frustration of wanting to throw in the towel and scream about why I was even blessed with children when I can't handle them.
And then I got sick.
For two days, I could do nothing but lie around in bed. And for two days, my older son, the unruly, yelling, hitting little beast curled up beside me, hugging me and kissing me.
So in the silence, as he lay there with me, sleeping, I hugged him tight. And I cried a little. Because I didn't fail him after all. And that sometimes we have our down days, our dark days, and it happens. We will yell, scream...hopefully stop hitting sooner than later. But I haven't failed even if I feel like I did.