…the house didn’t burn down.
That’s pretty much all I got.
It was the most Monday-est of Mondays. I woke up overly tired, cranky before my feet hit the floor. Today, I’ll say it, I didn’t want to be mom. I didn’t want to be needed. I didn’t want to answer a million questions about the songs on the radio, what we were having for dinner, if we could go here or there or some place “fun.” I just didn’t have it in me.
When this mood falls on me it doesn’t usually end up being the best of days for my fifth and sixth appendages, i.e. Jerry and Clara. It will never cease to amaze me, though, how much grace my children can give me. Especially when they aren’t even yet five and three. They apologized to me for my being frustrated. I reminded them that THEY have nothing to be sorry about.
Typically when I end up in a mood like this, I wind up feeling frustrated and angry with myself because I’m being a crappy mom and part of me knows that I’m being a crappy mom. Because I know that isn’t not their fault, but they have to put up with me yelling about where their other shoe is and my only having the energy to warm up two bowls of Spaghettio’s for dinner.
Sometimes, I guess we just have to buy ourselves a donut and let ourselves have some grace. On the days that we feel forgotten about, we stand over the kitchen and whisper silent prayers to ourselves for just a little bit of patience, just a little bit of hope.
Here it is. 10 p.m. (ish) I’ve made it through until bed time. Like I do every day, even when I don’t think that we’re all going to make it through without my scratching my own eyes out. And as I’m laying down my children, I get just the tiniest bit overwhelmed at the realization that this is all more than I deserve. And that, Lord willing, I get some rest and strawberry pie tonight, and a fresh chance tomorrow. Sometimes, there aren’t intuitive words, thought-provoking statements or complete thoughts circling back to themselves that help me reconcile a crappy day.
Sometimes, it just is what it is.
And sometimes, that “what it is” part is lousy, or frustrating. But, thankfully, more often than not, it’s pretty great.
I’ll take it.