Last week I had a bad day. The kind of day where the first thought I had upon gaining consciousness was why does she have to yell directly into my ear every. single. morning? I have no idea why my default mood was "crabby" that day. I am sure I could set forth several plausible theories: hormones, stress, bad night's sleep, the pollen count, itchy socks, the economy. But really it was just me having a cranky day and I could not shake it. Needless to say the first two hours of life with Mommy was basically a drag for my girls. I was much too intolerant of their usual breakfast table shenanigans and I raised my voice at them more than once. Suffice it to say the fuse was short.
As my mood inevitably started to wear off on the girls I turned my nastiness inward and started to guilt myself about the damage I was doing to my children like, right now. Damaging their poor little psyches and probably dooming their future relationships with my emotionally unbalanced outbursts. Just as I felt tears welling up Anna called across the room to me that she was going to draw a picture. I thought nothing of the announcement, Anna draws constantly.
A few minutes later she appeared with a colored pencil portrait of me, wearing exactly what I had on at the moment. In the picture, I was smiling. "Am I happy?" I asked Anna. "Of course you are, my little Poochie" she answered, using a pet name she's come up with recently. I let out a breath and watched my undamaged and totally not-doomed child go back to her sketch pad. She had just redeemed herself for the ear yelling.
As my mood inevitably started to wear off on the girls I turned my nastiness inward and started to guilt myself about the damage I was doing to my children like, right now. Damaging their poor little psyches and probably dooming their future relationships with my emotionally unbalanced outbursts. Just as I felt tears welling up Anna called across the room to me that she was going to draw a picture. I thought nothing of the announcement, Anna draws constantly.
A few minutes later she appeared with a colored pencil portrait of me, wearing exactly what I had on at the moment. In the picture, I was smiling. "Am I happy?" I asked Anna. "Of course you are, my little Poochie" she answered, using a pet name she's come up with recently. I let out a breath and watched my undamaged and totally not-doomed child go back to her sketch pad. She had just redeemed herself for the ear yelling.
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