I had a really bad week. Not my usual "I've over scheduled again and wacky high jinks abound" kind of week. It's been the kind of week that leaves you completely drained.
I've been spending a great deal of time at school on the receiving of the justifiable fury of a small child. It's not due to me, but I'm here to catch it. I'm mentally and physically sore. I'm also furious. I've encountered so many children this year who've had to deal with situations they are too young to understand. I feel like the adults in their lives have let them down. If I were these kids, I'd be pissed too. And confused. And scared.
Adults, all of them, have a responsibility to take care of those who are helpless (children, animals, the elderly, the mentally impaired). We have that responsibility because we are members of the human race and residents of the planet Earth. It's really that simple.
All I can do is listen to these kids and hold them, dodge blows, and help them learn to calm down. I have to keep emotion out of it, until I can go to my car and cry.
Then I go home and I'm Mom. I make sandwiches for the preschool picnic, help make a Narnia dioramas, take long walks with Caroline to the honeysuckle bush, referee petty fights and tantrums, do laundry, make dinner and take long showers. At night when everyone is asleep I slip into bed and cry some more.