Sister Ellen Thompson came over today. She is my Visiting Teacher. She quoted the "Proclamation on the Family" to me while Grace hopped on our couches, rode her tricycle up and down the hall, repeatedly yanked me toward her makeshift-refrigerator-box-playhouse, and pulled my hair. ("Does dis hurt, mom?" "Yes it does, honey." Sit. Down. And. LISTEN!)
Ellen wrapped up her lesson and the chit-chat, looked around and announced, "Next month I am coming to baby-sit so you can have a break."
Evidently I am not pulling off the "I have everything under control here" look. I was disappointed and a little annoyed at being discovered. Which is ridiculous. I should have been surprised and grateful she didn't laugh when I opened the door. She was sitting in a room that had exploded with laundry, visiting a woman with dark circles under her eyes and a lumpy ponytail.
After she left, Grace and I made bread. No. I made bread. Grace found a spoon and ate flour while my back was turned.
Sometimes I look at my little girls and the mistakes I am making and think to myself: "I'm not so sure how well this plan was thought through." (We watch Meet the Robinsons so much it is sinking into my brain.) I really don't know what I'm doing. I question myself all the time. What's the magic key to parenting? Will my kids suffer because of my dumb mistakes (even if I love them to pieces)? Does Grace know I love her even when I can only play tea party for one hour (instead of three)? How about when I stubbornly correct her learned lithp? Does she feel loved? AAAHHH.
This is harder than I thought it would be.