I hadn't yelled all week.

I had done such an excellent job of self-talking my way out of just reacting to my three kids' misbehavior with frustration,

and I had been approaching them with

calm,

patience,

and understanding.

And then there was today.

I yelled.

I yelled a lot.

I cried, too.

I cried a lot, actually.

So did they.

Did their antics warrant my raised voice?

You decide.

When you give your children

easy instructions,

a simple direction,

or a harmless request for help,

and are

repeatedly ignored,

what else is a mama to do?

A mama who feels

tired,

overworked,

periodically unseen,

and way underappreciated.

Ain't no surprise that she's gonna lose it on her loved ones every now and then.

Until she doesn't anymore.

Until she gets better at controlling her emotions and not letting those of her

tiny,

feeling-filled little people

wreak havoc on her own.

Until she realizes that her peace can't be taken from her if she decides to remain aligned with it

no matter what,

no matter who,

and no matter who does what.

I don't like being a mama who yells,

and that's why for the last seven years or so,

I've been working my tail off to change that fact about me.

I read how to do better.

I pray that I'll do better.

And every day, I try to do better.

Today I didn't do better.

Today I did what I always used to do.

But tomorrow I won't (hopefully).

'Cause its another day, and I'll try again.

And I’ll keep trying until I get it right.

I'm a mother on a mission,

and failure,

well,

it’s not an option.