I am not perfect

My kids are not perfect. I know, this is earth shattering. They are small people with lots of thoughts and ideas. They have big imaginations and hundreds of ideas on how things should be done. They are growing and changing and learning and are full of questions. This is all how it should be. That’s what small people are all about.
Sometimes I forget.
I’m not perfect either. Far from it. I’m a big person with zillions of thoughts and ideas running through my head. I have a wild imagination and ideas on how I think things should be done. I’m growing and learning and am so full of questions. And this is also how it should be. This is what being a parent and an adult are all about.
And sometimes I forget that too.
We had an incident earlier today in which I found myself using a Very Scary Voice and screaming at my child while the other one cried. And as I heard the scary words come out of my mouth, I was more than just a little horrified. Everyone was ok. Maybe a little scared but otherwise ok. 
I had just told said kid not to do what they were about to do. And shockingly, they didn’t listen. And I lost it. None of this is the proper response to a child’s behavior. After I calmed down and the crying child calmed down, I sat down with my kid. I looked my baby in the eye and talked. I spoke calmly and rationally and mostly told the kid how awesome he/she is. How I love and cherish  them and how wonderful I think they are. And the tears streamed down their little face. 
It’s been too long. Apparently it’s been way too long since we talked about love and pride and the things that make Paul and I happy. I’m not perfect. And my kids are just kids. And maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I need to let the kids be kids and learn from their mistakes. As I hope to learn from mine.

Comments

  1. issa says:

    The key? The talk after. We all lose our shit. Kids can make people insane. The end thing that snaps your rope, is rarely the worst thing, it’s just the last thing that happened to happen in that day/week/whatever. The talking and love that comes after, is the important part. That, they’ll remember one day. You know on the day their own ropes get snapped by short people.

    No joke, I frequently call my mother and just say thank you.

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