There are days, when I just have nothing left to give.
I have been with you all week, and now the weekend is here and I am in charge again.
I don't know what to do to make the noise stop.
The exhaustion of being your mom, it is crushing.
And then I remember how deafening the silence will be.
How I will long for the noise, how I will turn up the TV too loud, just to make it seem like the house if full.
There are days, when you two can't get along.
You can't be in the same space.
Everything ends in a fight, screaming, yelling, running.
The entire family is off and we spend our moments screaming at each other because we are screaming at them.
And then I remember that she will leave first.
He will be here with just us and we will have to find a way to be without her.
There are days when my "have tos" are never ending.
Work and mom and laundry and cleaning up and homework and activities and the house and work and more laundry.
The days when I am not sure when I will ever sit.
When it will ever end.
And then I remember that we built a house that they turned into a home.
We will one day feel the walls spread out, the space is empty.
There are days the running won't stop.
You are all underfoot and I can't have a minute to breathe, or pee or be.
All I am is tugged on, and asked to do, and asked to look, and asked to help.
Days that I question every decision I make.
And then I remember that we are all afraid.
We are all living in fear,
we all question every decision.
There will come a day I will want it all back.
The good, the bad, the ugly.
The loud, the quiet, and the love.
The terrible, the fights, the hugs.
The tantrums, the screaming, the bedtime routines.
The running, the awful, the kindness.
And all I will think is, what would I give?
What would I give to go back and remember how many days you did get it right.
The days that you play together so well, so so well.
The days that you remember to be kind, to each other, to me, to yourself.
The days I remember to be kind to me and to you.
The days that you are all hugs, the days you and I smile.
The days that we have dance parties, and we laugh.
The days that the pizza is so good and so warm, and the movie is just right.
The days that we count down to pancake Sunday and that dinner is so much talking and excitement.
What would I give to hold you again, to remember how small you were and how well you fit.
What would I give to remember how small your hand was and how you loved to hold mine.
What would I give for you to come to me for advice, your venting space.
What would I give for just us four to be at the heart of our home.