My Wednesday was soooo not pretty. In fact, it was downright ugly. Most of the day. Well, at least until bedtime. Then it got blissfully peaceful. Quiet. And oh, so pretty again.
The day actually started out fairly nicely. It had all the marks of a potentially pretty day. It got ugly fast.
The middle kids had a 2-hour snow cover delay. So we started the day in my favorite way - sleeping PAST 7 a.m.
(Somehow, any thing before 7 a.m. feels
so ridiculously early to my body clock.)
I got a shower BEFORE
Li'l Empress woke up and started bellowing, I mean calling, for me.
(Seriously, she calls my name in, like,
12 different voices and
12 different volumes until
she hears my hand on the doorknob.
Then she's all, like,
"Hi, Mommy! Beep wew?")
Somehow, it all fell apart from there. One son logged in to school and began a lengthy quiz before finishing his morning routine. Before looking around at the snow and pitching in to clear a path for the middles. One son decided to clear some paths, only in ridiculous patterns and zig-zags that would make a hamster dizzy. One son forgot that we own several working clocks, strategically planted all over the house. AND that he has hair on top of his head: he attempted to leave the house sportin' a lovely bed-head nest of blond locks. One daughter spent the whole morning following the biggun's around, repeating everything 100x and yelling "TOP!" whenever one of them would speak to her. Or look at her. Or breathe. One daughter decided that wearing her favorite jeans 3 times in one week wasn't enough. That "one more time oughtta do it!" Yeah, it did it. To my sanity and my tolerance for repetitive denim-wearing. It was not pretty.
And that's all before the middle buggers even left on the bus. Before Li'l Empress, the big boys and I even left the house for a long-overdue jaunt to the local library. I gritted my teeth and directed the remaining three to get in the van. At which point, I had a captive audience. Lucky, lucky them. It was not pretty.
But I felt better and that's all that matters.
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
With their "reset" buttons re-set, we entered the quiet peaceful library. A poor sweet mom of three REALLY! EXCITED! EXUBERANT! ACTIVE! boys was trying to corral her little ones, check out books, carry on an intelligent (?) conversation, and get back out to the cafe for a little caffeine therapy. Her REALLY! EXCITED! EXUBERANT! ACTIVE! boys were not cooperating with her. At all.
At this point, my heart really went out to her. She looked tired. And in the face of our slightly grumpy and in-tolerant librarian-type lady, she looked just a little embarrassed. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that it wouldn't last forever and that her boys would someday grow up to be models of godliness and acceptable social behavior. That they would some day sweetly offer to carry the heavy laden burden of picture books for her. That they would some day be able to stand near each other without cries of cooties or exclamations about private body functions.
But I couldn't.
Because at the very same moment that compassion and empathy were welling up in my heart for this obviously stressed mommy . . .
(Now, please remember that at this point,
I felt so much better after my lecture
ON THE EVILS OF NOT WORKING
TOGETHER AS A TEAM
and my diatribe ON THE PERILS OF
ATTEMPTING TO CONTROL
ONE'S SIBLING TO CONFORM
TO ONE'S OWN STANDARDS.)
. . .
Li'l Empress was yelling "TOP!" at one son, and "NO!" to some poor innocent library patron who was trying to be sweet and friendly. One son was griping under his breath about the REALLY! EXCITED! EXUBERANT! ACTIVE! boys who were running into and around him. And still another son was shooting muttered,
snarky hilarity at his brother in an attempt to get the cheap laugh and make his brother disrupt the relative peace and quiet one has come to expect of a library. It was not pretty.
And until the last one disappeared up the stairs after dinner, skulking quietly away after the EVIL DICTATOR MOMMA banished them all from polite company, it pretty much remained in its ugly state.
Then, as if by magic, the Gang's house became pretty. Peaceful, tidy, quiet. And pretty.
Lamentations 3:22-23
Because of the LORD's great love
we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
The forecast is for more snow.
So, head over to this post and get all the skinny on how to get one of these great tees for yourself. And while you are at it, join the contest fun and spread the word. The more shirts they SELL, the more money goes to the relief efforts!
Gung Hoy Fat Choi!
A Silver Medal
A GOLD for Hannah!
Have a Happy Day!
From the sidewalk, looking up the drive.
Also from the end of the drive, looking straight back
The side entrance to the house. That pile
Oh, my poor little Japanese maple.
bulous weekend together, in the midst of the second biggest snowstorm our region has seen in recorded history. The kids played in the snow (reminding my of just why I despise snow gear), The Boss shoveled, the neighbors chatted and gratefully accepted the help of stronger, younger backs. And I cooked. I made cookies. I made soup. I made bread, I made Chinese pudding. When it was all said and done, we got 14" of the white stuff and the REST of The Gang probably worked off every single home-made, scrumptious calorie they took in that day. Me? "Not so much," thus sayeth my jeans.
me decidedly "low brow" chips & dip platters and frozen treats. It was polished off mostly before the half-time show even started. Oh, and what a great game, wasn't it? All the intensity of two well-matched teams and the excitement of seeing New Orleans finally have something wonderful to celebrate. It's been said over and over, but seriously, who didn't have even just a little tiny "Go Saints!" whispering in their heart of hearts?!
one together and the beautiful music from the other ensembles from the district. And again, I had to stop and admire my girl: she was picking out the different instruments, describing to me in hushed whispers the degrees of difficulty that certain notes required, and asking intelligent questions about the historical significance of some of the pieces. I can't believe in all the hustle bustle we forgot to take pictures of her big night. I can't believe how scattered I felt and how calm she was. I can't believe how grown up she was last night. I'm not at all sure I like it. In fact, I think I don't.
