For the second time today, I am crying over spilled water.

Not even spilled milk.

Water.

The non-staining kind.

The kind that is easy to clean up with just a few paper towels.

The kind that dries in minutes and leaves no sign it was ever there.

But it put me over the edge.

Today's trek to the top of the cliff is thanks to

sibling fighting,

non-listening,

sibling fighting,

unreasonably loud volume,

sibling fighting,

and, did I mention sibling fighting?

All. Freakin. Day. Long.

I tried to be patient.

I attempted to be understanding.

I gave warnings.

I tried to engage, thinking the nonsense could be boredom-induced, and that more of my attention could/would be a good distraction.

But they wouldn't stop, and they couldn't stop, and with each

argument,

word of unkindness,

refusal to share,

and putting of hands on each other,

my frustration elevated.

I began to feel overwhelmed.

Again.

For the 898,0283,000 day in a row (it feels like) since mid-March.

What do you do when

you're not really leaving your house much,

not seeing very many people,

and missing out on all of the very social activities you used to do?

If you're a kid,

you tire of the monotony,

your everyday company,

and continuously bicker with your varied-aged brothers and sisters.

If you're a parent, you cry over spilled water.

AND THAT'S OKAY.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

That we’re all doing our absolute best to navigate a 'new normal' that we abhor while trying to remain grateful for the blessings that are our

health,

safety,

and family.

And that's challenging.

And when children are challenged, sometimes they act up.

And when

tired,

anxious,

socially deprived,

emotionally charged-up

mamas feel their peace and happiness being threatened, they cry.

I cry,

you cry,

we all cry,

because there's an effing pandemic lingering, and now I think I need some ice cream.