Didn't your mother teach you not to play with matches?

This is my newest hobby...blogging. At first it seemed like a mundane thing to do, a royal waste of time. But as my days alone with my young children seem to get longer and longer, I began to think of this as sort of a venting place; a way to really express myself and unleash some of my frustrations. Of course, I can always share these thoughts with Hubby, who is my number one supporter, but I usually don't get the opportunity to really lay it out there for him. The details of my day are usually shared in quick three word sentences as we pass in the kitchen.
And I'm not complaining...don't get me wrong. I work three 12-hour shifts a week as an RN so I really value my time at home. Only problem is, after working three 12-hour shifts a week, I'm usually borderline worthless to my family. Somewhere along the line I need time to recoup!
Which brings me to my first ever blog (confession). About a week ago after a long day at work and an even longer night up with my 22 month old daughter, I was laying in bed an extra minute (or ten) after Hubby, #1 and #2 left for school. (Hubby's a teacher and, bless his heart, shuffles the boys to school in the mornings so I can stay in bed!!)
So anyway, I'm laying in bed, not really asleep but not ready to get out of bed when I hear a blood-curdling scream from #3. My feet don't hit the floor until I'm out of my bedroom and I see my little guy holding a match that has burned down to his fingers and he won't let it go!
I scream at him to "DROP IT!" and kneel beside him to examine the damage. His thumb, middle finger and index fingers all have white blisters appearing at the finger tips and he's sobbing from the burns.
I stick his little hand in a glass of ice water and hold him while we both cry. Like any mother knows, if I could take the pain away, I would. But even more than that, my guilt is consuming me! How stupid can I be to leave matches within a three year old's reach?
I was spoiled with my older two boys, and I know it. I never had to baby-proof a house. Never had walls drawn on with Magic Marker, never had forks plugged into outlets, never had toy cars flushed down toilets; all of which have occurred since the arrival of my younger two.
It's been a good lesson to me...now I get out of bed as soon as I hear one of my kids scurrying about, although I still grab a quilt and lay on the couch until I'm fully awake.
My matches are above my fridge (even out of reach with a stool), buying outlet covers is on my list of things to do (I can't be perfect overnight!), and I have enough Magic Erasers under my kitchen sink to clean the White House.
I'm sitting at work right now at two a.m., helping deliver babies, knowing full well that even after this confession, tomorrow I'll wake up exhausted and worthless to my family once again, wondering if I'll ever amount to the kind of mom my own kids deserve.