midnight muse

Sometimes it's not easy, being a mom.
I have some bad habits. Some nights I stay up, too long past bedtime. Sure, I make it there, eventually. Some nights it is moments before my little girl wakes up for her midnight snack, some nights I get an hour in before she wakes me, other nights I wait until she's gotten her midnight fill before diving into my pillow.
There are mornings when I have to be up early, whether to simply fix a quick lunch for Mr. Boss before work, or to let my sister in, with my niece. Most mornings, when this is the case, if I have gone to bed too late, I am usually able to get a few hours of sleep more before the kids are up and ready to start the day.
There are the rare mornings when they decide to get moving much earlier. Those are the most difficult.
It's on those days, when the night has granted little rest, that I notice a way about me that I rather despise. This other me, she is harsh, impatient, irrational (more so than usual, that is,) angry and ugly.
Already, with young children in the home, chaos is to be expected. Especially as boundaries and limits are being tested, by those who are searching for their independence. Messes are made, things are gotten into that shouldn't be. There is noise, there is excitement.
When I am in a good way, I can usually look at the hard parts and roll through them, with ease and equal parts justice and mercy.
I've noticed that it helps (a lot) when I have my camera in hand. There is something about taking a moment, stepping back and taking yourself out of the situation, that allows you to clear your head. Things, such as powdered sugar being dumped all over your carpet, can be laughed at instantly.
This is what my camera helps me to do.
But on those days, when the day started to soon, and nerves are easily jostled and frustrated, I lose my cool.
Sleepy and cranky, the thought never enters my mind to step back and breathe before reacting. My temper runs short, and the river of tears runs wide.
As I hear my shrill voice I think "who is this horrible woman?" In those moments I hate myself.

I know my thoughts, my actions, my shortcomings on these days, and everyday, are of no fault but my own.
I expect better of myself. But I have to admit that sometimes it is just so hard.
Not everyday can be perfect, this I know, but I want to publicly call myself to action. I need to be better. I need to be an example. And I need to be able to forgive myself for the times I mess up.
The futures, of these children of mine, are in my hands. They will only learn what I teach them, through words, but even more through my example.
I don't have it all together, but that doesn't mean I can'ttry.
It is time to raise the bar. I need to be better.