Doing my best

I am sitting on my couch with both my kids on top of me.   The baby is wearing a fleece hoodie with sweet potatoes on the collar, a diaper, and once sock and is sitting on my hip, looking at the TV.  The big girl is curled up in a ball next to me with her head on my shoulder and her feet tucked behind me.  PBS kids is on.  There's a pie in my oven and doctored baked beans from a can.  I went to the library, the post office, and the drug store.  I mopped my kitchen floor.  I screamed at my eldest daughter in public and was several times in danger of ripping her arm out of its socket.

It's been a strange day.

I spent a good portion of the day believing that this loveable creature curled up in my right armpit was intent on destroying me.

Sometimes?  My feelings get away from me. 

I get angry sometimes.

I take things personally sometimes.

I tried so hard today to remain calm.  To set calm boundaries and maintain my own sense of distance and space.  But as the day went on, it spun up and she spun up and I spun up.  

I want to be better at this.

I also want to be better at homemaking, at cooking and cleaning and getting my laundry done.

I want to be a better and more present wife.

I want to be a better, more prolific, more talented, braver writer.

I want to be a better steward of the environment.

I want to be a better friend, to be the one who remembers to reach out sometimes.

Today has been hard.

I'm doing my best.