The place where I come from

Are we being honest? Really and truly, gut-twisting, eyes-closed, breath-held honest?

Okay, then.

How is it that half the time I can burst into tears just by looking at these kids--at their sweet faces, at that huge mother of a gap between the Girl's front teeth, and the way the Boy's hair completely obscures half his face (!) and he looks like a miniature version of a skateboarder that's about 3 seconds from exploding upward into some 6-foot-tall bean pole of a wild child--and the other half?

I feel nothing. Or worse, I feel a distinct sense of annoyance. Of wanting to be anywhere but here, of just wanting to be alone? Or maybe that isn't worse. Maybe the nothing is worse. I can feel it ooze out of my pores. I can hear it in the disgusted tone of my voice when I tell them to stop fighting with each other or that I'm busy right now or that we have to leave, please put down those toys and brush your teeth and why must you argue with me constantly??? It's like I'm two women: the one who loves her babies fiercely, and the one who wants nothing to do with them.

I hate it.

I'm angry right now about a situation--situations--I don't know how to address. It's so easy to see the aggravation spill out and turn me into this block of wood, because that's what I do. I just go away. It's so stupid. The Girl said today, "I hate it when you're a grumpy mama." And I am. Stupid, just so stupid.

Is it possible to stay with all these feelings instead, or to wrench my brain away from all the worrying and fretting and obsessing and gnashing of teeth, and just instead make it remember that I only have them for the littlest, littlest while? I can't think of anything worse than them thinking I don't love them.