It's just been one of those days (especially the last part of it). The kind of day that ends with multiple children in their beds crying loudly or mournfully calling my name.
Tonight we fought a little battle with Max called "We don't pour water out of the bathtub, ever."
And one with Anna called, "I mean what I say even if you are really cute, and then I still mean what I say even if you are crying the biggest tears I've ever seen."
And one with Charlie called "Have a pacifier. You cannot nurse every hour for an hour because it throws a major wrench in the workings of this family."
I felt like a really mean mom, and I fought a little battle inside myself, actually several. One of them was called, "Should I stay or should I go away from here?"
Luckily I have developed a coping strategy for when I can't go away from here, which is usually. If you are curious, I just take a little mental vacation to a dark, quiet, cathedral, yes, where monks are singing. And as I write that, it doesn't sound very normal, but it works. And while I am there, I take some deep, deep breaths and maybe eat some chocolate chips, and then I say goodbye to the monks and come back.
