The dream was so bad I don't even want to talk about it. But I'm not sorry I had the dream. I think it will actually help me to be a better mom. It seems that lately I have been in a rut of whining, complaining, and general grumpiness. The dream reminds me to grumble less about what hard work parenting is and see it for priviledge it really is. I don't ever want my kids to feel anything less than the most important and wonderful part of my life.
This weekend was a mixed bag. Todd was up north cutting wood and the kids and I stayed home. Part of the weekend was really nice and the kids were great, and the other part was exhausting and tiring. You know, typical. But after that nasty dream it makes me thankful for it all. The good and the bad.
The dream reminded me not to take it all for granted. Remember nights like Saturday when I took the kids out to dinner and they were so well behaved that we had strangers interrupting our meal to compliment them and maybe forget about how many times I had to sit them on the naughty step this weekend. It's all a gift. Such a gift.
Every few minutes my mind drifts back to that dream and immediately I get a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. The worst dream ever. But I'm glad I had it.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to go hug my kids. Again.