A break from my high-speed hilarity

As the morning progressed, several ideas for today's blog ran through my head. I could write about the ridiculous things I found in even more ridiculous places, or the little corner of our living room that my daughter has made into her own personal haven. I could write about the seven quick-changes baby girl made every time she went down the hall into her bedroom, or the woman-beast war I just had with my 75 pound lab in the backyard. And maybe they will all appear in a different post one day, but for now, there is something a little more serious that I wanted to get off my chest.

I'm sure every parent feels like they have failed their children at one time or another. I constantly have that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, this week in particular. I'm convinced that if there was a program that could read your future and display it for a committee (yes, this is the sci-fi, distopian side of my brain talking), they would have confiscated my uterus so I wouldn't have had the chance to procreate.

And here is why:

On Friday an incident ensued in my household that involved tears and blood and five stitches in my four year old son's right pinkie. I was in the shower when it happened. Not only should I have been there to stop this, but the responsible parties should have known better. I should have taught them better. Either way you look at it, it was essentially my fault.

Which leads me to the point of all of this.

Not a one of us is perfect. We are human. That title gives us the right to screw up every now and then. And even though I feel like the worst Mommy in the whole wide world right now, I have been blessed with the opportunity to learn from this and do better next time. I have also been blessed with very forgiving, loving, beautiful children who love me despite my gray spots.

And hide sit-on bouncy balls under the sink to remind me that life goes on.

-Ali