Some days I just don’t have it. The patience. The understanding. The hope. The optimism.
Some days, like today, I just barely survive.
It is the fourth day he has stayed home from school. And gosh, I love that kid. But that is a lot of time for the two of us to spend together.
He is feeling better. I am sympathetic when he’s ill. I really am.
But he is feeling better. I am not doing well, however.
He keeps crying. Over every little thing. He keeps hitting and scratching me. Every time I say something that makes him mad. Which, it seems, is all the time.
I am so tired of it.
I am trying to teach Aiden it’s not okay to hit.
I am trying not to hit him myself.
I can do it. But there are costs. Like my mental state. I am a mess. I am angry. Frustrated. Furious. Sad. Empty. I want to yell and scream and break things. I have been doing that. I have been crying and praying prayers of desperation. Good God, help me! I am the adult here. How on earth did this happen?
Again and again I am so thankful for his Dad. For his Oma. For my Jesus. I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t have them. Instead of yelling at him any more I am here, writing this. A better idea.
I can hear the patience in his dad’s voice. I can hear it running thin. I am not alone. It will hold up. We will hold up.