Sometimes You're the Windshield, Sometimes You're the Bug

There are days, more than I'd like to admit, in which the inmates run the asylum.

Days when nothing I do can soothe them. Days when the screaming, and in-fighting, and restlessness takes over, and I'm left throwing my hands up, wishing it was easier.

I struggle with that...the impetus to wish the hard part away. Am I also wishing away the good? Am I trying to rush through the tough parts of childhood? Am I missing the mystery and innocence of the toddler years because they're SO.FREAKING.HARD??

I try to stay in the moment, and make sure that I'm experiencing the kids as they are. I try and make sure I'm giving them time to explore, and experience the world around them. I try and ensure that they're safe and protected, without being a helicopter.

They're going to fall, and get bruises and scrapes and bumps along the way. They're going to bleed...it's an almost-inevitable part of childhood. They're going to have scabs and scars from their experiences.

I struggle to be okay with that. With the visual reminder that I wasn't able to protect them.

I struggle to balance the desire to keep them away from all things dangerous, with the desire to allow them to experience the world. I want them to dig in the dirt, and eat bugs, and fall off the rock mound they're climbing. I just don't want them to hurt.

Some days it's all good, and I"m engaged, and able to pacify them and keep them entertained. Other days...well other days I'm not quite the woman I want to be. I'm short and quick tempered, and have very little patience for toddler shenanigans.

I guess that's what it means to be human, huh?