And then she saw me

Today is hard.

I went to the grocery store and forgot to buy what I mostly went for. I spent 15 minutes on the phone trying to get BG registered for a class she wants to take, and turned around to find LS soaked to the skin and a swimming pool on my bathroom floor where she'd been splashing in the sink. Everywhere I look, there is something on my floor that doesn't belong there, even though I spent 3 hours cleaning on Sunday afternoon, and my in laws are coming to visit tomorrow. BG has been asking me every thirty seconds to paint or throw pottery or do something that will create as big a mess as possible, and my answer is always "Not now, not now," and I HATE that.

I'm having a hard time breathing right now.

I yelled at my kids and BG stomped off to her room indignantly. But then. But then.

She poked her head back downstairs and immediately started asking again if she could do something incredibly complicated, requiring my undivided attention, and taking twice as long to clean up as it would actually take to do.

"BG," I said, "I'm not doing great. There's a tornado in my brain. So many tornadoes." This is how my sweet six year old describes her own anxiety to me.

She stopped. She petted my hair. "I'm sorry mommy. It's okay. Go to your room and read, that always helps me. I'll take care of everything."

And so I started to cry. Because she saw me and heard me and I can't remember the last time I felt genuinely seen and heard and validated.

And I started to laugh because there was no way in heck I could leave her in charge of the house and her sister.

And I breathed. And I hugged her. And I kept on trying.