by Kathy Clark Smith

Created on: June 22, 2009

I woke up, my eyes red and swollen. Dull thoughts began whirling in my head as I groaned inward and forced my body out of bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and sighed as I heard my preschoolers call for me. Glancing at the clock, I quickly calculated how many hours it would be before I could return to bed. I stood up and winced at the pain shooting from my neck down to my shoulder. I had slept fitfully and my muscles were tight with stress. I stood and rubbed my neck as I heard two of my boys, ages two and three, start arguing. Tears welled up in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. I sat back down on the edge of my bed holding my head in my hands. "I can't do this one more day", I thought, "I can't do it anymore, I'm done." The screams of my children grew louder and I heard the anticipated "Mommmm" along with the thumping up the stairs. I looked up and saw my two year old crying and his three year old brother with an indignant look on his face, ready to defend his position.

I suddenly felt trapped in my own life and anger bubbled up inside of me. I stood up and walked away, leaving both boys standing in my bedroom. "Let me have my first cup of coffee", I screamed as I walked down the stairs. My raised voice initiated a panic in the toddlers and louder screaming ensued. I stopped halfway down the stairs and sat down. My head dropped and I covered my ears with my hands to block the sounds. I felt like I was going insane. The screams came closer and closer as my children came near me and I wanted to collapse. I wanted to run away. I wanted to open my front door, walk out and not come back. The more I thought about that, the worse I felt. I knew I would never abandon my children. My head dropped as I removed my hands from my ears and sighed. Reaching down to the deepest recess of my sole, I searched for patience. I searched for sanity. "One day at a time, one hour at a time or one minute at a time", I recited over and over again. I stood up, drawing strength from an unknown source and turned around. My boys were crying, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to fix the problem. I had my fill of problems to fix and in an instant, I resented them. Immediately guilt propelled my compassion as I reminded myself they didn't ask to be brought into this situation. They were the innocent victims here. I reached out to my youngest and picked him up and rubbed the back of the other. I took a deep breath and spoke calmly. I took them downstairs and walked into the

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