How exactly does one write out the sound of flopping into a chair and exhaling noisily? It's kinda' like the sound a little boy makes when he's playing with cars. (How is it little boys inherently know how to make the perfect car and truck noises anyway? I've always wondered.)
Or how about the groan that follows the sigh of frustration. "Uuuuuuugh."
I'm. So. Tired.
Tired of dealing with the same old crap. Tired of hoping maybe this time it will be better, and then being let down. Again. Tired of hearing the empty promises of "I know. I'm going to do better." And then not seeing any follow-through. I need less talk and more action.
"This, too, shall pass," you say? I dunno. I will never stop being a mama. And until I (we, me and Steve) get them to adulthood safe and sound and send them out on their own, the daily activities - good and bad - of our children affect how our family operates.
Today our son makes me tired. I'm emotionally exhausted and physically spent. Yes, it will get better. He did not trigger the end of the world; the sun came up this morning. But when you want the best for your children (and what parent doesn't?) and you see them making less-than-stellar choices, you have to wonder what is going on in that child's head. Peeling back the layers and getting to the bottom of things is ... tiring. Discipline ... tiring. Keeping hands and minds from being idle ... tiring. Praying with conviction ... pleading, almost ... tiring. Even encouragement and praise ... at times, exhausting.
But I have strong coffee, sunshine, and a quiet garden. And at the moment, a peaceful house - my own little oasis. Today I may be tired but I am fighting the good fight. I am strong in the promise that it will indeed get better.