Let’s talk about mothering and the potential for homicide. If you have grown kids, I really don’t need to explain myself.
Of my four kids, Adam is the one who makes me the craziest.
Smart. Moody. Enthusiastic. Clever.
He has boundless energy.
That is, until he can no longer hold up his body weight from self-inflicted exhaustion from staying up too late.
Always ready for anything.
Always the life of the party.
Tons of fun to be around.
Until he makes me crazy.
Did I mention his nickname was "Adam-Bomb?"
I confess that I flop back and forth between complete adoration and purely homicidal thoughts. See? Crazy.
But maybe every mother does this?
Or maybe it’s because he reminds me so much of . . . me? (it’s the round cheeks and the blue eyes)
I’m not going to be too hard on myself.
I really do believe (maybe it’s more of a hope) that he’s going to grow up to be an amazing man. (if I don’t kill him first =D)
Just when I think the last straw has finally and irrevocably broken the camel’s back and this is going to be his last day on earth, he will come bounding in and kiss my cheek and say, "I love you, Mom."
And I think, okay, just for today. . . I’ll let him live. 😉