I want to change the way I speak to my children. In the silence, I am suffocated by the guilt of making every day of their morning a bad one. I hate that I complain about them. They themselves are struggling and I add to their woes as if I've taken it upon myself to make life more miserable for them than it already is.
I can't find a middle ground, I am either this end or that end. But come to think of it, that end is better than this end.
What I will do is I will think that when they're not around me, they're playing in the garden or exploring in the woods. I will imagine that they're lost in a book or building clay dolls and digging holes in the ground, I will imagine that they've just discovered a worm that looks like the colour of fireworks and squirts blue liquid. I will think that they spotted a bird's nest on a tree and are now climbing it to investigate what type of bird's nest it is.
When I see things around the house where they're not supposed to be, I will keep them back where they belong. For the thousandth time I will hang the towel to dry. For the millionth time I will keep back the story book in the shelf, for the billionth time I will keep the tumblers and the bowls back in the sink. I will rise above the petty everydayness of my pet peeves,
I will give my children peace in their own homes...so that when they think back to these days, they don't remember the yelling and the screaming and the correcting and the frowning and the growling and the sighing and the fingers pinching the bridge of the nose and the almost crying voice and the almost shoutey voice, but they remember a quiet and laughter and grace and love and charity and kindness and a mother who did things for them, who wasn't always teaching and correcting, who wasn't always finding fault, who wasn't all the time annoyed and seemed like she was battling triggers.
I will be silent and allow peace in my house, so that my children desire to return home one day,
