The time between finishing dinner and my children falling asleep is not generally the highlight of my day.
Something happens to me after I eat. The gratefulness for my family being healthy and together disappears. Slowly, carefully, little by little peaceful momma goes away. Sometimes I can’t even tell she’s gone until it’s too late.
The rooms in disarray and towels carelessly thrown on the bathroom floor instead of hung up neatly after a shower push me through the treacherous doorway into frustrated and angry momma.
It wasn’t always like this.
When they were little I cleaned their room for them and hung up their towels without complaint.
Tonight, when I’m reflective and quiet, after my husband has saved me from hurting tender feelings anymore, I know that it is fear. It is a spooky and scary future populated by your own demon children who have refused to learn how to live neatly.
If I didn’t see my own failure in every messy room, it wouldn’t be so hard to stay patient.
But, for this Halloween week, I prefer to think of it as my own personal witching hour. A time best spent reading alone to assure less yelling at home.
