Some days I feel as though I have my very own special psychiatric ward here in my home, filled with bipolar patients who rapidly cycle through their moods. Between having a toddler, a teenager, and a 5 year old (I am firmly convinced that children at that age have little mini hormonal cycles just like a woman...), there is enough lability of mood to make the makers of Depakote go nuts. Between Charlie's dramatic temper tantrums about being prevented from running out in traffic, Alexis's conviction that she is the ONLY ONE IN HER ENTIRE GRADE who had to wear long sleeves, and Elizabeth's just general teen-ness, I am about to go completely unhinged myself.
And yet...I would not trade it for the world. My children are both my sanity and my madness. I come home from work on days like today, when I am surrounded by desperation and pain and hopelessness, and I see why I do what I do. It is because there is hope in Charlie's "muwah's" (kisses) that she gives me when I get home from work. There is still innocent joy in Alexis begging me to play on the trampoline with her. There is promise in my conversations I have with Elizabeth. There is sheer delight in the way that they all play together. The simple pleasure that I get in making dinner for my family, in watching them grow and learn and become women. In seeing the development of their personalities, their growth as human beings.
I am humbled by watching them become just generally fantastic people. Bright, creative, funny, caring. It makes all of the insanity worth it.