Rhythm of Life: It's a radio

Rhythm is one of those things that I crave.  I think it may be a part of human nature to seek it out, or maybe just Amy Nature.  When I hear a beat on the radio, or let's say "Your the one that I want. . ." from the Grease soundtrack, I tap my toe or beebop around in my seat like some crazy girl, then the next song John Travolta is crooning, "Stranded at the Drive in, branded a fool, what will they say?  Monday at school...Saaaaaanndyyyy"  arghhhh. . .blahhh. . .hummbuuuug.  Always have hated that song!  (no offense if you loved it, just my little opinion in a big world)  A rhythm can be a pickup or a let down, but of course it is all relative and sometimes the slow is good and calm and ahhhh. ..Whatever the rhythm, I feel it, so when it is a jolting change from what I want, or expect or need,  well. ..insert John Travolta crooning.

So, it is not really new to me, mom of three, that the rhythm of parenting can sometimes be too fast, too slow, too monotonous.  This week, it is like the song "Sandy" on repeat. . .My three year old who has been potty potty trained for over a year now, but lately accidents, accidents, accidents, and Hannnnnging from my shirt saying "Mommmmmeeeeeeee, I neeeeeed you!"  Don't get me wrong, this little girl is one of the most precious little peeps in my life.  I love her snuggles, her nose kisses and her wildly addictive laugh.  I love when she stands with her hip jutted out and tell one of her big brothers what is what.  I adore when she says, "I will call him George." in reference to the little toad she spotted and captured all by her three year old self, with pudgy three year old fingers, and sharp three year old eyes. 

But. . .when I spend every waking hour with said three year old and she tugs on my shirt, climbs the chair I am sitting in and says those words. . ."I neeeed Youuuuu!" or "I had a accident."  I have to admit, I forget to be greatful for her presence.  It is the mournful truth.  But, I will not beat myself up over it, because sometimes being a parent is downright frustrating.  It is "Sandy" all over again.  We just need to wait it out, rock with it let it flow on till the next song picks us up again.  Raising kids is like that.  You feel the rhythm, get on a roll, and just like that. . . the song changes.  Sometimes you get a few good songs in a row, and then Bam! Commercial break, soiled clothes, and then "Sandy".  Sorry kids life is not an iPod.  You can't program what comes next.  Parenting is. . . Life is . . . a radio.  

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