99% of the time I feel like I am ruining my kids. I think, legitimately, I do the wrong thing every five minutes. I yell, like really yell, not just raise my voice. I am sarcastic in a mean way that I know they won’t understand or get. I make empty threats. I bribe and use tv and treats as rewards all the time. I don’t stop and get down on their level and into their eyes enough. I am tired, worn-thin, and mostly feel like I’m trying to “come back” from the previous last five minute’s fuck up. I generally feel like all my pain and unprocessed grief and trauma is just leeching out onto them even though my one job is to keep my pain off them. But they love me and I love them and shit if I’m not aware and trying. And once every few days there’s a moment. A sunset-at-the-top-of-the-big-slide-at-the “carnibal”-moment. When we race our friends and go again and again and I squeeze one tight on my lap and feel their heart spike and their laugh start in their round belly and feel their hands press my arms down around them even tighter. Those are the moments I want to be fully awake to. Those are the moments I see that, yes, I am made for them and they for me, pain and all. That makes me want to try again in this next five minutes.