This weekend was so beautiful.
The sun was shining, the fall colors are vibrant, and the children were fighting.
Wait what?
For the first time in a while, I looked at my kids, shook my head and said to myself "what did I do wrong?"
The boys were in prime form this weekend fighting and whining and screaming and sassing. The constant complaining and overreacting came to a big giant explosion on Saturday.
It is 5 miles from the baseball field to our house but it felt like 500. The boys were so rude to each other and literally did not stop arguing for the entire ride home.
I dropped them off at the house and left to get gas.
Thats how bad it was.
We were already out, driving right by the gas station, but the thought of them being together and/or near me for even 10 more minutes so I could get gas was too much to bear, so I drove home, dropped them off and returned to the gas station.
Once it was finally quiet and I could try and think clearly for a minute my thoughts all ended in one thing: who the heck raised those rude little punks?
I was disappointed in both of them. Truly, deeply, disappointed. I was disappointed in myself, how did I let them become who they are?
I didn't have the energy or mental fortitude to take them on at the moment.
What would I say even if I did want to settle in for a heart to heart?
For so long my goal with the boys was to teach them. Teach them how to be respectful, how to work hard, be responsible, live fully, eat healthy, laugh loudly, do their best, love others.... I worried about how to teach them to become great people.
But somewhere along the way I think lessons got derailed.
And now I find myself trying to right the ship, correct the course, figure out where things went wrong. Praying for my eyes to see the mistakes I made and just hoping I have time to correct them.
Comments