I don’t know why I followed a link to a story about two little boys, four and two, dying in the storm surge on Staten Island during Hurricane Sandy after being ripped out of their mother’s arms while she was trying to carry them to safety.
My boys are four and two. I can’t imagine . . . I just can’t. (Read at your own risk!)
I’ve been so irritable the past few days. Weeks? I don’t know. Ask my husband. 🙂 Pie must contradict my every word, even in the face of facts. Beanie is deriving enjoyment from hitting his brother over the head with whatever is in his hands at the moment. He has the most maniacal little laugh for a two-year-old!
I feel like I’ve been at my wit’s end for days, angry at the drop of a hat because Pie’s arguing gets my goat every time. His eating habits are frustrating at best. Beanie’s not as picky, as long as the food can be consumed from a bottle. His sleep habits are the frustrating thing about him right now. Between the two of them, I am begging for a Calgon moment by 10am.
But after reading that story, maybe I should think about how I would feel if they were taken from me so tragically, and hug them instead of losing my cool for the tenth time that morning.
Well, now Beanie is fussing again, probably because he just woke up to discover he’s in his bed. Which he apparently really hates. Seems like a good time for some late-night cuddling . . .