Before 9 a.m. my eldest had pushed, prodded, needled and stomped on every single button I had.
Because he refused to get dressed and I refused to be held captive in my own home I left him in his pj's and we were off to the gym where I could get a break from Mothering for a while and he could run off his energy that knows no bounds.
I took the entire 2 hours. Oh yes I did. I showered, I put make up on, I even blow dried my hair straight.
And there we were again. 2 year old in tears because he couldn't get his boots on by himself yet refused my help and my 4 year old insisting in not so many words that he was dying of hunger.
We arrived home and the dramatics continued.
And continued....as I threw food at them like I was tossing meat at starving lions restlessly pacing the entrance of their cave.
Between bites of some food and refusing other foods the tears wore on.
Even music wouldn't bring them back from their misery.
As I was finishing up in the kitchen Adrian climbed up on the counter and rummaged through the cupboards retrieving a long lost small bag of sugary fruit snacks.
"No Adrian, your behaviour today has not warranted a treat at this moment. If you continue good behaviour this afternoon you can have them after dinner."
Well, that did it. Out came his foot and off went the hand soap from the sink and the empty plastic milk jug from my hands.
Then off he came from the counter as I tore those candies from his hand and ripped them open, dumping them all in the food compost.
Probably not the best mothering tactic but I'd had it UP TO THERE.
He screamed, he cried, he fell to the floor, he vibrated, he yelled at me 'DON'T DO THAT!!!'over and over and over again as I told him loudly, "You don't hit or kick Adrian Thomas!!!"
Finley, little sensitive soul that he is, came over with tears beginning from all the commotion.
In defeat I turned around with the tug of his little hand on my pant leg and my back slid down the cupboard doors. He crawled into my lap as my other son railed on beside me in the corner of the kitchen. I was near tears as I heard the song playing in the background.
Somehow I heard the lyrics over the cacophony of my surroundings.
The words of the song almost made smile in irony....almost.
Tears dropped instead.
"It's not hard for me to love you
No it's not a difficult thing
It's not hard for me to love you
Because you are the world to me..."
The intensity of my son's tantrum seemed to quickly cease as I pulled him up beside me, planting kiss after kiss atop his soft curls and told him that I loved him.
And there we sat, a pitiful bunch. All with tears in our eyes...one child's head laid upon my shoulder, the other's upon my chest. My arms around both my sons as we sat in the corner of our small kitchen, staring forlornly at the oven door in front of us. Pitiful indeed.
At that moment I realized something. Something I'll make sure to never forget.
The moments when they make it the hardest to love them are the moments we should say those words the loudest of all.