I'm highly functional outside my house, but at home, sometimes I just start crying. Yesterday, while Ryan was playing in his room, I just sat at my kitchen counter and sobbed. Almost as soon as I had begun, Ryan came rushing down to the kitchen, asking me, "What's wrong, Mommy?"
"Oh, sometimes I just feel sad," I told him, not even bothering to wipe away my tears. "I'm not sad about anything, I'm just sad."
He hopped up onto the stool next to me and reached for his pile of library books. Horton Hears a Who was on top. "Let's read this one, Mommy. It will cheer you up."
The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was read Dr. Seuss aloud, but my sweet boy wanted me to, so I started, crying through the first four pages.
Then he put the glass down in front of me.
My baby fixed me a glass of lemonade to cheer me up.
I hugged him, getting happy tears all over his hair. I tried to explain the difference between happy tears and sad tears; I think he understood, because he started giggling.
"Keep reading!" he demanded sweetly.
By the time Jo-Jo let out his Yopp, I felt calm again.
I must be doing something right here, because I'm raising one seriously good kid.