There are days that I freak out.
Days that I think, "My God, I am screwing them up!"
There are days that I wonder if I'm doing anything right, getting anything through.
Days that I yell too much or nag or growl or snap too much.
There are days that it's a fight to get them out the door, in the door, to open the door, to shut the door.
Days that I have more internal dialogue with myself than most folk should.
There are nights that I have dreams that they'll ask me a question I can't answer. And then days that follow when my dreams become a reality.
I worry about how they treat each other. How I treat them. How they treat me.
I worry about what they eat. I worry about what I can't control.
There are days I am shocked by what they say or shocked by what they do.
In good ways and bad.
There are days I think for sure they will end up on a talk show or therapists couch talking about how their mother totally botched their precious little psyches. How she didn't read to them enough or play legos with them as enthusiastically as she should've.
There are days I question my sanity in regards to thinking I could homeschool.
Days I question moving out of a house and into an RV with three children, no matter how short the time may be.
There are days I totally snap to reality and think, "Crap! I have three kids! How did I get here?"
There are days, hours, every stinking minute of the day, even when they are being complete lunatics that I thank my Almighty God that he picked me. Picked me to do this. Picked me? What were You thinking? :)
There are days that I don't think there could be a luckier chick in the entire world.
Days that I wish I could go back and start all over again so I could really, really cherish every moment.
Days that I wonder how what I do in this moment will affect them ten, twenty, a hundred years down the road.
Days I wonder if they'll have mom issues.
because my boys are the greatest kids ever.