Sometimes, I suck.

I am many things.  I am a woman. I am a wife.  I am a mother. I am a friend, a sister-in-law, a daugther-in-law, a daughter, a cousin.

Sometimes, I suck at one of these.  Sometimes all of them.

I have the moments when all I want is 20 minutes to myself  and I can't have them.

I have the days where I snap at my husband, getting irrationally annoyed with him. 

I have the days where I just don't want to do anything -- no cleaning, no cooking, no walking up stairs.  I just want to sit on my ass.

I have the days where I yell at my kids when I really shouldn't.  When I lose my temper or patience too quickly.   When I don't listen to their little voices, where I make them cry.

There are so many things I do day in, day out.  Things I don't even think about, and if you asked me to list the things I do on a daily basis, I'd be hard pressed to tell you half of them, they are just so subconscious.

I try to be the best wife I can be.  The best mom I can be.  Sometimes, most of the time, I succeed.

Other times I fail.

I never want to be the cause of my husband's pain or happiness.

I never want to be the cause of my children's tears. 

There are so many things I can't control in this world that will burden them with pain and sadness. I can control that I am not one of those things.

Because even when I lose my temper or my patience, even when I am not the mother I want to be, those little arms still hug me.  Those little voices still tell me they love me.

And my husband stands by me.

So sometimes I suck.  But I'm trying not to.

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The first ER visit

Saturday was a beautiful day.  The kids and I were outside.  Husband was inside, finishing up some last minute things for his graduation on this coming Saturday. 

The kids were playing with water blasters.  I was skimming the pool.

I suddenly heard a terrible scream.

Not a normal scream.

Not a "I tripped and hurt my leg" scream.

Not a "I banged my arm on the deck" scream.

I ran to PJ who was crying, screaming. 

"WHAT HAPPENED BABY??"

I look and see a gash.  About an inch and half, bleeding, on his upper back between his shoulder and his neck.

It's deep, it's bleeding and it's wide. 

I scream for John.

Through tears, PJ tells me he cut it on the grill.

The corner of the metal tray of our grill.  He must have went under it -- and with no shirt on.

I know you're supposed to stay calm when your child is upset.  I lost it.

"We have to go to the ER.  I have to go now.  Can you take Maggie?"

I couldn't make sense.  I got PJ dressed as quickly as I could.  John was going to follow with Maggie and after he took care of our puppy.

I let PJ sit in the front seat with me.  I held his hand.  He was so sad.  I was sad.  My poor baby.

We've never been to our "new" hospital.  Since we moved. 

They were extremely nice.  We waited about 15 minutes till we were seen.

Once we went through triage and settled in a room, John had to leave -- he had tickets to the Game 5 of the Blackhawks/Kings series.  Expensive tickets.  I told him to go.  I would handle it.  I'm a mom. 

He felt terrible, but he went.

My poor bubba needed six stitches.  :(

He was so brave.  He screamed and cries so hard when they gave him the numbing agent (it was a big needled) and  I cried with him and held his hand.  I talked to him through the stitches, told him we would go to the toy store and have pizza for dinner.

My tough little guy.

When it was done, Maggie (who'd been pretty much frozen in her spot since PJ had screamed) went up to her big brother and said

"Don't you get hurt again PJ!"

"I won't Maggie."
It was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me.  He's fine, he'll have a scar and he's handling it better than I did and am.

I just know I never want to feel that way again.

Six stitches and a turtle toy later.

Shh, it's a secret.

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You need to get my permission.

Thanks, Bec, for the idea.