The number one reason I yell at my kids is mess. They generate mess at a fascinating rate and it infuriates me. I seem to spend all day, every day cleaning up after them. Today, I paused. I looked around with a fresh eye, and for a minute I didn’t see the mess at all. I saw joy. The blocks all over the floor held hours and hours of my son’s learning and success. The dress-ups strewn all over the carpet carried my toddler’s giggles and fairy princess dreams. The books, haphazardly stacked in the corner housed cuddles and quiet time, fast running out as my nine year old steamrolls towards adolescence. Today I didn’t yell. Today I giggled and cuddled and reveled in the fleeting childhood of my three amazing children. Dishes can wait.If you liked this post, please share and I’ll really love you if you click the thumbs-up button below.
Today, I needed Miss G to sleep. I had a lot of work to do and not much time. We spent the morning doing ‘special girl stuff’ like ballet and playing princesses with her best little friend EVER in the whole wide world, we ate lunch and I popped her into bed for a nap at midday, confident that I’d get an hour of work done as she slept.
Miss G, of course, insisted on napping in a purple fairy dress and ballet shoes – so she could have fairy dreams. Of course. I kissed her goodnight, wished her the fairyest of all fairy dreams and ran off to the study to work.
Naturally, after fifteen minutes, I heard movement.
I sneaked down the passage to her bedroom and there she was, dancing in front of the mirror to Baby Mozart and declaring to her teddies that she was, without doubt, the prettiest fairy princess of all time. When she looked up and saw me, a look of pure panic registered on her face. Busted.