Still Smilin'

We got a load of rock for our driveway. Apparently a big pile of rocks is what we needed to restore some inner peace around here. There has been lots of bulldozing, building, and gnawing. Ethan has had more pleasant moments than not. The atmosphere has changed ever since his sweet little declaration. Suddenly I can face the defiance and testing again without lying down in exhaustion and letting those boys trod all over my worn, defeated body. I keep thinking about this and wondering if I could have diffused the tension earlier with a similar verbal gift to him. Would he have been able to cope with his life better if, days ago, I had surprised him with some kind words out of the blue? Or is that kind of power only held by little hands?

I feel pretty awful about this, actually. (Mommy guilt, even during the good times. You can't win.) These past weeks have just made me question so much about my parenting abilities. But I didn't beat him or lock him in the attic, no matter how tempted I was. When he wasn't in time-out, I hugged him and told him I loved him and we painted together and washed dishes together and played with kitties, etc etc etc. I'm pretty sure I didn't ruin him. I would feel worse if I didn't correct any of this behavior and he grew up to be a serial killer, or at the least a major drain on society. I don't know why I can't shake this funk. I know that parenting is the ultimate roller coaster of good times and hanging-upside-down, screaming-your-head-off times. None of the phases, sweet or evil, last for long. So why am I so whiny and melodramatic about this one?

I wonder if there is any leftover Zoloft around here. Maybe I'll just go climb around on the rock pile.