Patience - A virtue to learn

It is said that patience is a virtue. As true as that is for most folks, that is not the case with me. Patience is something my husband tells me to ask God for. Well, it must be on back order because I have yet to receive it. I am quick tempered with a short fuse. I blurt before I think. I issue knee jerk reactions before considering the ramifications. I am very skilled at apologies. It has become an art form. However, when it comes to children, a million apologies can not undo one harsh word. Something I am learning to get a grip on. Again my mouth can runneth over.

My father would tell people that he gave the USMC his only baby girl and they returned a trained killer. Tattoo and all. When at USMC bootcamp, they drilled in my head to respond to commands without thinking. I was to jump without asking how high. Because I was so highly trained the height of the jump is a given, I should know how high. SO JUST JUMP MARINE! My children are not Marines. They want to know not only the height of the jump but why they have to jump. They want to know how to jump and what they will be doing once they jump. Where do all these questions come from? Holy cow. Don't they get that by the time they get done asking all these questions, they could have been finished with the jump and on their way to other things? Jimminey Christmas people.

Joe has only been gone for a month so far. I look forward to his return from training. He gets some time at home before the jumps the puddle to Afghanistan. This time away from him has been long enough to get a taste of what deployment will be like. I can tell you, I am not a fan of being away from the father of my children. He is my buffer. He is nurturing and offers compassion. He kisses the owies and mends hurt feelings. He can endure the whining children do when they feel bad and/or need that extra bit of comfort. We are two completely different kinds of parents.

If they are not bleeding or projectile vomiting with a fever, they go to school. They fall down, I expect them to get up and walk it off. They run into a wall or bump into a door, if there's no blood, I pat them on the head and tell them to shake it off. I don't settle skirmishes, I send people to their rooms until they calm down. Like Bill Cosby would say, I do not want justice, I want quiet.

I noticed last night, I had resorted to yelling at the little people, instead of speaking to them in a conversational tone. I know I don't have to yell. They hear just fine. However, the moment we walk in the door, the demands begin. I want juice. What's for dinner? I hafta go potty. I haven't even put my purse down yet. While trying to prepare dinner, Jordan forgets to go pee and puddles on the floor. When my husband is home, he can offer a diversion so I can change and breathe. He is very adept to tending to these demands and enjoys doing it. He is not here. I have to learn to balance my full time job, all three children, the bills, the groceries, and the ache I feel when he's away.