My Favorite Valentines

Enoch knows better than to pull "You're family needs you" guilt trips on me any more. Year 3 of working 4 days a week, it's been a huge process of processing the already existent maternal guilt of "breaking/ruining" your kids with now the fact that you have 10 more kids and 12 adults you listen to all day.
The kids are more cognizant, it feels like more needy. Aidan talks my ear off the minute i wake up and visit with him at 630 am. He is the early riser in the family as i am. Bing he wakes up ready to go, a story a million miles a minute. Nally is evolving, shifting, her little brain churning as her Sim in " Sim Life" gets married and has kids. i am navigating the sexual space carefully as we approach puberty and laying the groundwork for delicate questions.
On top of that is the inherited role, i got from my mother which is to be the only one who has structure, discipline or parenting skills in the house. As enoch steps up more picking them up and supervising Tuesday and Thursday, i've come so far in letting him figure out how homework works, what is the best place for them to work ( i've only trained them since 2 years old to work at Starbucks ), how many things can you jam into the 3 after-school hours, and the consequences of tired, strung out children. It feels like i am parenting 3 children. It feels like i am doing Love and Logic all the time crafting reality consequences, except now my children are at stake and i have to live with the guilt at 3 am in the morning.
But the most beautiful thing that my son gave me was this inscription he made on his autobiography book he presented yesterday. "This book is dedicated to Tania because she keeps the family on track" and the little picture of a train.
i felt like that was my bouquet from heaven confirming weeks of feeling so weary and tired of balancing out a hyper, adrenaline driven husband running 5-6 events on a Sunday. Parts of me wants to just detach and run away. It's too hard, i feel so unsupported. I am tired of being "bad guy".
But his note, out of the consciousness of a 7 year old's heart, a little boy pushing and testing boundaries everyday, he serves up belligerent  consequences for permissive parenting to his father like vegetables on a plate, he sucks up to me like a pro with opened doors, and getting me breakfast utensils.
Thank you Lord, i feel your reward, your consolation, your confirmation that i am not a bad mother.