The day didn't start too well. I spent my morning
That's where it all started to go wrong. Within five minutes there was shouting, fighting, crying and then laughing as my youngest proceeded to throw all his toys down the stairs.
I went up, shouted a bit and eventually got them and myself ready to go.
Then I couldn't find my keys.
I spent what seemed like ages racing around the house looking for them, trying to phone hubby (I needed someone to blame) and then found them.....in my coat pocket!
I got the boys to school on time (by some miracle) before heading back home. Just me and the baby for the day.
Then, 3.30pm arrives and it's the same sort of thing as above, except in reverse and intensified by about a million percent because everyone is tired.
Bedtime is the worst time of day for me. The boys are excited at seeing their father, they're tired but don't want to go to bed, and I'm heading for breaking point. All I can think about is
It soon ends in tears (occasionally my own) and the house descends into calm. Finally no more screaming, tantrums or cheekiness. For a few short hours at least.
I savour this time of night where I get to relax and be me for a while. I'm not being nagged; I'm not having to break up fights, answer constant questions or respond to demands for food and drinks.
It's also the time where I sit and reflect on my day and wonder what I could have done better. I watch them sleeping and I realise that my boys are still so small. I don't want to spend my days rushing and having to shout at them. I want to savour this time when they're still young and innocent.
However frustrated and annoyed I get, it doesn't take much to change all that in an instant. My oldest looking me with his big puppy dog eyes, my middle boy giving me a bear hug, and my youngest holding my hand. It's these small things that make all the difference.