Thursday.

Mike is in San Francisco.

It took both boys over an hour to get down for bed last night. West was sad for some reason, and Quinn just wanted a cold drink (?) over and over again. They finally settled, and I got myself in bed a little after 11pm (after cleaning up, doing a few loads of laundry, and having a cupcake + Coke for dinner).

Quinn woke up a little past midnight, sobbing and crying. He wanted to sing the ABC's, to go to the park, to have Grandma visit (I made the rookie mistake of telling her that she's coming soon), to ride the choo choo... It was endless, I wanted to pound my head into a cement wall, and I finally left him to figure it out. I hate doing that (it took him a while).

West, my sweet baby who has slept consistently for months up until the past three days, woke up at 4am. So sad, and extra-complicated because I wonder / worry that it's a helmet issue (he's often hot, always sweaty, and sometimes rashy - none of it can be comfortable). I fed him and got back into my bed around 4:30.

Quinn was up at 6. Of course he didn't sleep in after being up for half of the night. I convinced him that watching the iPad in my bed until the sun came up was a good idea, and managed to be semi-concious while he navigated his way through YouTube and Vimeo (his mastery of both is embarassing). He finally got bored and asked for Pancakes!! around 7am, and West was up shortly after.

Nights like that always bring me to my knees. Mercy. 

Mid-day today, I found myself sending up a silent prayer for patience, because I feel entirely zapped of it (which means that I'm certainly not winning any mothering awards over here). I also took matters into my own hands and put an obviously-tired-based-on-his-behavior child down for an early nap - before lunch! One of us needed to get some extra sleep.

I was angry at Quinn last night - angry because I felt like he was just being mean-spirited all day (hitting me in the face, yelling no! at every possible question), angry because he wasn't being nice to his brother, angry because he had thrown his dinner all over the floor and won't touch a vegetable to save his life. I was just so mad. These feelings were simmering until I pulled up the archives on our blog, looking back at when Quinn was West's current age. All of that anger instantly vanished, and those feelings, the love that you have for a baby - pure, absolute, untarnished love - came rushing back.

My baby. How can you be mad at a baby? 

And now, he's two (and a half). Only two, but still - two! Sweet, innocent, well-intentioned two. A little bit crazy some days, but happy and sweet and smart, and the way he's so earnest in asking for a brownie for breakfast... Mama, please this! Brownie! Please this! I mean... 

There are days, and even weeks that are just hard. Having a husband who is gone a lot probably (certainly) exacerbates the exhaustion of it all, and exhaustion exacerbates just about anything. I'm aware that so many of these things are phases, and that it will all be over in an instant. I'm just trying to enjoy the happy moments and days, and endure well when the long ones come (because sometimes that's all you can do). I'm mostly failing at this enduring well concept, so I'm re-dedicating myself to having extra patience, an extra-peaceful demeanor, and some better parenting days ahead. My boys deserve these things.

I'm also going to go drink another Coke. Cheers!

(A mixed bag of photos from the last week from my iPhone and camera, including a visit from sweet little Juniper Burton and her parents. Dreams really do come true, and our dear friends will be living 3 1/2 minutes away from us very soon. !!!!)