can you feel the love hate?

It's a terrible afternoon :: the kids came home in a funk -- for lack of a better term. Anna had been SUPER needy today {like, as in, I couldn't look away from her or go to the bathroom or feed Sara or do anything without her demanding my undivided attention}. Plus she was tired and whiney. When the big kids walked through the door the "fun" really started :: Doors slamming. Stomping up the stairs, the kind of stomping that leads to fear that the house might, literally, fall apart. Yelling. {Oh, the yelling.} Tantrum throwing. Glasses bent {I think, intentionally} in a fit of rage. Throwing things. Screaming. Crying.

The crying may have been just me, I didn't stick around long enough to find out.

I went outside and sat on the steps leading to the basement {in the cold} and cried and prayed. But it followed me. Even from out there I could hear yelling and stomping and slamming. From outside! Even from outside I could feel the hate oozing out from the house. I hope and pray it's not really hate. I don't think it is. But it sure does feel like it.

I know no one has perfect kids, but in my mind other kids aren't this bad. They aren't this bratty. They aren't this needy. They aren't this whiney or jealous or moody or angry or disrespectful or mean-spirited.

Maybe I'm the one who is off-kilter. Maybe it's because of the constant, often intense pain of my messed up shoulder that I'm extra moody or sensitive. Sometimes I just feel like, clearly, I'm doing something wrong {if not, everything} because these people I'm trying hard to raise are a complete mess. I know deep down that they're not a complete mess, but I sure would appreciate it if they weren't quite so "messy" {literally and figuratively, I might add!}.

Alright, I'll quit now. Just keepin' it real.