Days Like This.

Everything was going along just fine. We had a lazy morning. H, you watched cartoons in my bed for a good hour before deciding to really awake for the day. And E, you ran around from room to room, making mess after mess, but with a smile on your face.

I didn't mind. Some days I know that I'm annoyed from the moment I step out of my bed and see tornado after tornado occuring but today, I didn't mind.

We had no agenda. No where we had to go, nothing we had to do.

So we leisurely started the day. With Trix cereal squished into my bedroom carpet, even that, I picked it up with a smile.

By 10 am we were on the road to where we were going.

Errands. I bet you're both so done with errands. I'm sorry.

To Penny's real quick. Then Costco. A quick haircut and Trader Joe's. And of course, there was a stop at Starbucks.

I could feel it happening in Costco. I was getting that twinge in my voice. I made you both ride in the cart. No easy feat to get you both in but once you were in, you were in.

We got milk and bottled water and string cheese. I was racking my mind wondering what else I'd come for because you both know even though I always write a list I usually leave it on the counter.

We ran into someone I hadn't seen in years. She hugged me and we started exchanging pleasantries. And H, you screamed.

"Mama. Let's GO!"

And my cheeks were burning with embarassment. I couldn't believe you did it.

We paid and we left and we went to the car where I told you over and over and over again how awful that was.

And just like that, new kid. You got your haircut with a smile and offered to help me get the things we needed at Trader Joe's.

And H, you were so good. So helpful, so polite. All the kids carts were taken and you took it in stride and carried your own basket instead.

But then we got home and it was one thing after another.

You both ran up the stairs and dumped out all the toys that go with the play kitchen before I even had my shoes off. And I could feel myself counting down the hours, looking at the clock, wondering, almost out loud, "Is it bedtime yet?"

One thing. After another thing. And another thing.

Crayons dumped on the kitchen floor. Sliding down the stairs. Toilet paper unrolled. Toys everywhere. Running laps.

My voice was sharp. My actions were quick.

Stop this. Don't do that. No. No. No.

E, you went to bed so good. You hugged me and held on to my earring in my ear and kissed my cheek at least four times. "Rock." You said and we did and we read Elmo and I laid you down and in seconds you were asleep.

H, you had tears in your eyes when I came in and you told me "It's not fair." In all honesty, I wanted to say the same thing to you.

Tomorrow will be better, I tell you and you ask me if we can still have our date tomorrow and my heart breaks just a bit that you were even worried.

I love you even on the bad days, I tell you. And you nod your head.

This is the part they never tell you. When you're expecting and your hopes are through the roof, no one mentions that there will be days that go by that you wonder what went wrong and did anything go right at all?

These bad days where I think I am as much to blame as you.

In the words of Kelly Corrigan; "If John Lennon was right that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. Parenthood is what happens when everything is flipped over and spilling everywhere and you can't find a towel or a sponge or your "inside" voice."

We read our book, you hug me tight as though to say without words, I am so sorry for driving you crazy today and doing the opposite of everything you asked. And I whisper "I love you so much my heart is full."

And that, tomorrow will indeed be better.