^^^ a recycled Instagram from a month ago when he still had his curls ^^^

I was just way too short with Ryan. He got out of bed right after I left the room so within minutes, he had woken up Conor who very needed to go to bed, and I very needed them to go to bed. Now I'm sitting here feeling horrible about the hug that I didn't give him when I stomped out of the room, and I so want to go back into that terribly messy room with two presently sleeping boys and wrap them up into a squeeze hug, as Ryan loudly whispers when I normally tuck him in one final time.  And yet, I know that when they crow in the morn, all of my stomping will be forgotten. Their memory for shortness is as short as can be no matter how well they can remember something bizarre like what kind of goldfish you ate on a flight almost a year ago. Oh, how there are armfuls and armfuls of  grace given from little children. Tantrums,  interesting idiosyncrasies, demands for things to be just so, roadrunner energy and still needed help in the bathroom, yes. But also, grace. And I feel even more undeserving thinking about how easily they dole it out. 

Being a mom as a flawed human ... whew! 

My friend and neighbor sent me this quote almost two years ago to the day.

"... In my long experience very often, I had to be convinced of this great truth. It is easier to become angry than to restrain oneself, and to threaten a boy than to persuade him. Yes, indeed, it is more fitting to be persistent in punishing our own impatience and pride than to correct the boys. We must be firm, but kind, and be patient with them." - St. John Bosco

I think about that quote every time I take the easy route and lose my temper with the boys. I need to start thinking about it before I reach the fork in the road. 

Can't wait for tomorrow morning.  Well, really can't wait because I think I'm going to go tip toe into their room at least for a moment. I'll be quiet, mom's honor.