It has been an atrocious summer. Our honeymoon period lasted approximately 12 seconds. And though many things have gotten decidedly better, many things, like the sibling rivalry, have gotten out of control. My newest child very quickly picked up on the fact that whining and tattling works to bring daddy in to the rescue and I am sick, sick, SICK of it.
I was ready for them to move on out.
|Rockin' her new bangs.|
|After four months, I recognize look for what it is: Pure Terror.|
|He looks happy. He is not.|
|That hair! I mean, rockin' the hair and the jacket....|
|Sadness....PM kindergarten. All dressed up with nowhere to go.|
|Holy.....say it isn't so. How did those 12 years go so fast? HOW are they in the big school?|
Brent looked at me and asked, "What's got you?"
To paraphrase Jen Hatmaker: last night I was hip-hip-horray, yippee-skippy happy (this is where the paraphrase comes in, not the whole paragraph) that school was finally starting and I could ship the fighting, power struggle, who-does-mom-love-most, does-she-really-not-understand-or-is-she-working-it-to-get-her-way, play my parents against each other, she is feeding me poison by cooking white sauce, who is the queen bee, I don't have to obey you because you aren't my real mom, gonna pout on the couch since I can't have a popsicle five minutes before dinner, "no eat!," "I small brown, Eldest BIG brown" prejudiced heinie OUT THE DOOR so she can have another "mean" authority figure in her life besides me. And then I realized in my attempt to do so, I was shipping the rest of them with her. And then I had guilt about all of it.
Thankfully, rather than attending the back-to-school bash, I found myself crying on a friend's living room floor, confessing my sins, and she suggested we pray.
It's gonna be a good year.