One of Those Days
It was turning out to be one of those days. It took until 9:30 at night but it had arrived.
You know the kind of day I’m talking about. The every little thing annoys you, nothing is right, don’t touch me again, I want to run away kind of day. I’m not really sure how it happened but it got ugly fast.
I had had enough of the toddler’s whining. The twins both wanted to eat. Again. There was still a giant mess in the kitchen from supper. And all I wanted to do was go to sleep. Or run away. I couldn’t decide.
It didn’t start out that way. All the kids slept in. Our house cleaner and the laundry fairy had both been there earlier that day. I had a McDonald’s Dr. Pepper for breakfast. Brock and I met Matt for lunch in town before going grocery shopping. Everyone napped in sync. My best friend called and we talked for over an hour. I started supper and the hubby finished it. We ate together as a family. Life was good. And it just hit me.
I felt trapped. I had had enough. The responsibility of it all came crashing down on me.
Maybe it was the toddler whining “MOMMA!!” as he went down the hall with his daddy to take a bath. Or the kicking, clawing, squirming baby attached to me for one more meal when I just wanted to veg on the couch with no one touching me. Or the thought of staying up way too late to get all the kids tucked in to find one in the middle of our bed by the time I made it there.
The whining must have worn off on me. I began preparing my own whiny monologue to give my husband once the littles were snug in their beds. Or ours.
But that didn’t happen. I was stopped in my tracks. My resolution for 2015 was to give grace. Grace wasn’t even on my radar. Brock had kissed everyone good night, twice, and was following his daddy to his room to rock and say their prayers. Matt held the baby gate open and said “say good night Momma.”
Half paying attention, and half still in my pity party, I almost missed it. My first born, the one who had pushed my buttons all day, and just started putting words together, says in the sweetest, non-whiny voice, “I love you Momma!” And like that was off to bed.
I froze. My heart swelled. I didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve the whine fest I was preparing. My 2 year old didn’t understand what grace meant, but he knew how to show it. He just had. And when I needed it most. My kids love me with all they have. It’s all they know. And I am forever grateful.
It definitely turned out to be one of those days. One I will remember forever.
Here’s to waking up and doing it all again tomorrow.
