Sometimes being a mother of a two year old is hard. This morning Benjamin and I both cried over his oatmeal. Yep, both of us. I must be a little hormonal, because I've been tearing up over the smallest things lately. A heartfelt song on the radio (although who doesn't cry at a country song every now and then, right?), a recipe gone wrong, a husband arriving home later than planned, and the most recent one, a two year old boy who refuses to eat the oatmeal he requested just a minute earlier. I foolishly took a stand on this one. I insisted that because he asked for it, he must eat some of it. In other words, I tried to reason with a two year old. When he didn't follow my logic, I repeated it, only this time slightly louder. When he countered back with his own slightly louder voice, I turned up my volume even more. Finally, he ended up in his bed, crying, with me stomping out of his room, exclaiming that he will not get out of his bed until he eats his oatmeal. I...
Learning to love myself in the messiness of life.