I couldn't find the exact place, but I remember that in The Secret Life of Bees, Lily says that telling the truth means telling even the worst parts. This is my worst part.
I am tired. I am so very, very tired. And hormonal. And irritable.
My kids are energetic. They are so very, very energetic. And loud. And messy.
I spent two hours today sitting in a doctor's office, being poked and prodded and exposed. By the time I picked up my children, my patience was spent. They didn't have a chance.
They fought about which CD to listen to in the car. They ran in the house and kicked off their shoes in the middle of the living room floor. They passed too quickly by the baby and knocked him down. They let out all of the energy and noise they'd pent up all day. They were preschool kids, is what I'm trying to tell you. And it was more than I could take. I yelled. I didn't just raise my voice. I yelled. I was so very, very ugly.
Tonight I put them to bed and told them how sorry I was for my bad behavior. I explained that I feel kind of funny right now with a tiny person sucking up all my energy, but that it didn't excuse my behavior. And they forgave me. They hugged me and told me that they loved me. How could they love me today? I don't love me today.
Just recently I preached a sermon on how God loves us, not because we earn it, but just because that's how purely He loves. My kids get it. I could learn a lot from them.
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