This morning I read the legend of Finn MacCoul to my sons, and Seth turned to me and said, "I want to make my own story like the legends and myths you're reading me. Can I?" So I took him to the computer, and I typed up his story. (It showed the little boy that he is, and that he's taking in the structures of the stories we're reading, so it was great all around.) I separated it out into different pages for him to illustrate, and I printed it out.
In the meantime, Evan was whining that I'm not giving him enough attention. He told me that I spend "all the time with Seth and not even 20 seconds with him". Cue new worries about not giving him enough attention. (This adds to my other new worry about whether or not his math curriculum is too advanced for him, blah.)
Ben arrived back from his time with grandparents, and I read to him. He proceeded to pee all over the couch. Evan was now crying because he wanted Seth to draw something for him, and Seth was sternly telling him that he was doing his copy work and couldn't. So Evan wanted attention, but I'm having to clean up the couch and change Ben's clothes and my clothes. Evan was sent to time out, and I was muttering under my breath about having too many children to educate.
Got the morning back on track by sitting with Evan and praising him for his drawing efforts. Tried to remember the blog post I'd read recently about whining being a cry for help and a worry that they can't do what they really want to. Watched him smile big and dig into drawing more things to show me.
My days seem so often to be such a big mix of blessing and cursing. One minute I'm riding high on something great I'm seeing from them, and another minute I feel like I'm an unfit mother. Gah!