This week was crummy. Abby was extra sassy, Isaac was extra whiny, and Brady, oh, Brady. Suffice it to say that my sweet little muffin is heading full steam ahead to the horrible 4s, several months early. I took off on my own as soon as Adam got home tonight. As I drove toward In N Out, I could barely contain the overwhelming urge to cry, over my frustrations with the kids and with Adam and with what happened to Logan. And with my own feelings of complete and utter inadequacy. I "had dinner" with Logan at the cemetery, then came home. But I didn't want to go inside. So I called my mom.
It all came tumbling out when she answered. She listened to all of my rambling, and as she usually does, she tried to help. Because that's what moms do. At least, that's what the good ones do. And I'm blessed to have her in my life.
And I'm trying to store up her words of wisdom so one day, when Abby comes to me for help, I'll be able to make my little girl feel like just maybe the world isn't collapsing around her after all.
(And yes... I'm named after my mom.)
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