Sometimes my kids hate me. Sometimes they both get sick the morning Chris leaves for four days. Sometimes they stagger naps and calls of nature to where someone is always crying and someone is always poopy. Sometimes my kids wake up every two freaking hours all night when they should be sleeping three times that long. Sometimes my kids throw tantrums because the cup isn’t blue. Sometimes my kids just hate me.
But sometimes my son earns two trains back from the time out box and picks only one for himself and gives the other one to his sis. Sometimes my son shares his special blankie with her too, covering her up sweetly. Sometimes my kid pats my arm and says, “I’m sorry Daddy had to go, Mom.” Sometimes my kids nap at the same time. Sometimes my kids look identical. Sometimes my kid chooses baking with me instead of playing trains together. Sometimes my kids and I think the exact same things are funny. Sometimes I guess my kids love me. And I guess I love them too. (Especially when they nap at the same time.)