It started out as one of those days ...

I yelled at the kids because they were either under my feet and too demanding of my attention or because they were nowhere near me and completely unresponsive to my hollering for their attention.

My hair dryer started smoking ...

I dropped mango on my skirt ...

The kids and I argued ... a lot ...

We argued about breakfast ... at my frustration over the never ending feeding trough that occasionally occurs on those rarest of mornings when my kids (Elliot in particular) have "bottomless pit syndrome".  So we argued about why NO to another pear means NO.  (I was trying to avoid a mid-school-morning pooping session.)

We argued about why the kids were not allowed to go outside and ride the "little scooter" while I was trying to wrestle Charlotte into her coat simultaneously trying to avoid her sharp biting teeth.  (Charlotte has turned into a pint sized vampire and is currently biting anything that crosses in front of her face - including, but not limited to, cheeks, fingers, shoulders, arms, noses and ... bums.)  The boys went outside anyway and proceeded to argue about the "little scooter" which resulted in my "loosing the plot" as Luke likes to say.

I screamed at them to come back inside and ended my five to ten minute rant with "Mommy is VERY STRESSED OUT ..."

( ... a concept that is lost on a nine and four year old ...)

Halfway to the boys school I realized I'd left my lunch at home.  My choices were to drag all the kids home again (making us all very very late); send Luke and Elliot the remainder of the way to school alone (they probably would have been abducted); or sit on the sidewalk and cry.  I was just about to curl up on the pavement and have a good solid breakdown when Luke volunteered to run back to the house and get my lunch.  So, feeling somewhat ashamed that I was using my son's youth to my advantage and praying that he wouldn't meet some nefarious creature on the way into our house, I sent him running down the street with my keys to fetch my forgotten lunch.

This set Elliot off because he wanted to be a big boy and walk to school with Luke so despite my "getting a grip" on my own emotions, tears were still shed on the corner in front of the crossing guard who seemed not the least bit sympathetic to my obvious state of complete chaos and misfortune.

Elliot's crying agitated Charlotte and for whatever reason she bit herself on the hand, and, looking entirely confused, starting crying also.

I was just about to admit defeat and call in a mental health day when Luke appeared running up the street ... lunch and keys in hand.

He was extremely proud of himself.  I was too.

Elliot and Charlotte were still crying, so, feeling tentatively victorious that at least one thing had worked out, I told Elliot that if he could calm down a bit, maybe he and Luke could walk part of the way together without me.  He brightened significantly at this and we proceeded towards the school.  At one point I stopped and looked at Luke and Elliot and asked if they thought they could walk up the street to the school from where we were on their own.

Elliot was overcome with excitement and kept saying over and over "like a big boy? like a really big boy? I'm big now, right?"  

I assured him that we was indeed a very big boy and his wonderful, helpful big brother would take him to school.  He needed no further prompting and putting his backpack on thrust his hand into Luke's hand and said, "bye Mommy."

As I watched them walk up the road I prayed that all my mistakes and words I shouldn't have said to them that morning would be forgotten and they'd just remember that Mommy loved them and trusted them enough to let them go alone.

PS ... as I was praying and reflecting and watching the boys walk away, my heart full of love for my two big independent boys, Luke stopped and ran back and said, "don't worry Mommy, if anyone tries to take Elliot I have my skates with me and I'll take one out and slash them with it."