Tiny Miracles

I could go on and on about all the awful things I'm feeling. My heart is full of sadness and hatred and loneliness and darkness. I want Jared to be sorry for what he did. But the truth is that he is not.

I picked the kids up from daycare at 6:00 today. When we got home, the children helped me make dinner: pancakes, eggs, and bacon. I taught Zachary how to crack an egg. He proudly cracked 8 of them. I almost lost it. There are usually 2 out of 3 of them screaming or hitting at one point or another. Fixing dinner when we're all hungry and tired is always a circus. I almost didn't make it. I made all of them raise their hands and promise they wouldn't hit, they wouldn't tease, and they would show more love toward one another.  It lasted for about a minute. There was a huge blowup over who got what color of cup for dinner. I wanted to run upstairs to my room. My safe place. I wanted to crawl under my covers and cry. I wanted to give up. But I didn't. I finished cooking. I finished setting the table, and we ate dinner at the table as a family.

WE ATE DINNER AT THE TABLE AS A FAMILY

It still feels like someone is missing. It feels weird being the only adult in charge. I've done it alone for a long time since Jared has worked nights for so long, but this is a different kind of alone. It's a permanent, this-is-our-new-life alone.

After dinner, the children played while I did the dishes.

I DID THE DISHES.

Then we all got in our jammies and played a few rounds of Valentine Bingo
my visiting teachers had dropped by. Jagger didn't quite grasp the concept, but it was adorable to hear him shout out "Bingo!" The kids were laughing and having a good time. We sang a few primary songs and then kneeled down together in family prayer. I kissed all 3 of my babies and tucked them into bed.

And then I wept. I wept and I thanked my Heavenly Father, because we ate dinner at the table as a family. And I did the dishes. And we had a fun family night together. And that is more than I've been able to do in a long time. I have never experienced this kind of depression before. This kind of heartache and hopelessness. I feel like I have so much more on my plate than I can handle. I'm supposed to put on a smile and allow my children to feel loved and secure and happy, and I just can't do it all the time. I'm trying to focus my thoughts on the little things I accomplish, however small they may be, instead of beating myself up for everything I cannot.

 Tonight was full of tiny miracles.