I'm just going to say it: I'm tired. Today was rocky. Nora is moving into an intense tantrum phase and I feel so helpless: hurting, anxious, impatient, sad, worried, scared. I suppose that's how we both feel. And my mom had a rough day, too, and I don't like my mom to hurt. She's the sweetest person in the world, and the little girl in me wants to protect her completely. Remember that 6 month old baby sitting in a pickup with her behind the bar? Yeah, that's me protecting my 18 year old mom, and I still do it to this day.) And the van needed more work than I was suspecting. About twice as much work. And then the propane bill came. And the final paperwork that officially ends my marriage. And the muffin Nora was eating fell on the floor and she said it would be fine to eat, and I said, "Well. Okay." I was holding her and heard something crunch in her teeth like a screw trapped in a vacuum. "What was that?" Continuing to chew Nora calmly states, "That was just the muffin."
Oh, Lord. I wish I had a bathtub in this house.
Is it giving in to state how difficult it gets some days? Is this just self-pity or is it okay to occasionally admit that sometimes it actually does get me down a little bit? Don't get me wrong; I still firmly place my life and all that it contains in the hand that made me, and I trust completely that this hand knows my limits and knows the kind of weather I need in order to learn how to endure. So, it's okay sometimes to cry along with it, yeah?
Well, thanks for listening friends. Believe me, your words make for one powerful umbrella when the rain starts to come down.
And, Mom, I love you.