What They Don't Tell You

Call me Mother of the Year.

I prefer to use this blog to update my extended family on the little moments of my children's lives. Make no mistake, there are many, and they are adorable. I'd like to offer cute little vignettes that make you all think I'm a good mom with great kids.

This won't be that post. It'll come later.

The past few days have been brutal. If Parenthood 101 was a course in college, I'd have failed it. Come to that, if there were any courses about parenthood, the human race would die out of fear.

Peanut's tantrums have increased spectacularly. He's gone back to hitting Boomer and yesterday got his Beloved Teacher. I have my head in my hands in frustration. I don't have answers to why he throws the tantrums, nor do I know how to stop them. I only know they frustrate me and infuriate him. I'm at the point that I can't understand my son. That's scary. I don't know where to find answers to help him. That's scarier. And no one could tell me just how rough this road would be for Peanut. That's scariest of all.

Then came this morning.

Peanut was gearing up for a tantrum (again), and I came to his room with Tula in my arms. We talked, and he was able to calm down enough to hug me and hug his Tula. Watching him tenderly kiss his little sister's cheek made my day. I haven't lost him yet. I'm not letting go. We'll fight this together, kiddo.

Maybe there is a happy ending after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.