Grace

We were attempting to get the kids into bed. Ethan was screaming because we had left the town pool ("Pool water! Pool water!") because it was bedtime. The screaming was magnified by about 10 from his usual tantrum because he hadn't napped all day. I was trying to speak calmly rather than lose my temper and yell again, as I had earlier when he would not stop turning the air conditioners and fans on and off. The sheets still weren't on the beds because it had been too hot in our house to run the dryer and make it hotter. Or I had just forgotten. Leftover dinner dishes were still all over downstairs because Dan had rushed off to a meeting and the kids and I to Anna's swimming lesson; which had led to our fun foray in the sprinkler pool after Anna's lesson; which had led to Ethan's blood curling, overtired tantrum on the way home and up the stairs to bed. Anna was begging for a peach as she'd been whining for food, drink, and more play time all day. I snapped at her again and felt guilty, wondering if this is how she'd remember her childhood, with a haggard mom who could have been a lot more joyful.

I somehow whispered to her as I tucked her in, above Ethan's screams, "I'm sorry for snapping at you today. I love you. Sometimes mom just has a loooong day."

Before I could leave the room, she wanted to give me a hug, and another. Ethan's screams became choking sniffles. His eyelids looked so darned heavy. My girl squeezed me tight and said with a grin, "You're the best mamma in the whole world." Then hugged me again. And again.

Grace.