Life is a greased pig that I feel like I should catch. Or maybe life is a bar of soap on the bottom of a swimming pool I feel impelled to get to the surface. Or life is a two year old who needs his shoes on if I want to go outside. I get so close, and then...dang...but I can't help but want to try again.
On Saturday I told my husband how my day went and he said, "You're a good Mom." Ninety-nine out of a hundred times that he'll try to say that I'll reject it. But on Saturday I had kept my cool under duress. I'd loved my kids just right and felt pretty darn good about it. So I said, "Yep, today I am." And I started to believe a leaf had been turned. Maybe I could be a beatified Mom.
Then it was Sunday and we all woke up on the wrong side of the bed. My oldest had been to time-out three times before we even left for church. Three hours of church stretched into four when we stayed for a baptism I had brought refreshments for. I spent a lot of time the fourth hour begging, cajoling, and commanding all small bodies to shush. I was tired, my brain was done and my oldest was in the same sailing vessel. It wasn't a good mix for a peaceful Sunday evening. I went to bed at 8 p.m. ready to throw in my mothering towel.
Then today came. We were all hugs and laughing and family home eveninging. The kids are still up and giggling. I got them to bed fifteen minutes early so I can give them a little leeway on being wild.
I've just about got that pig. The soap's coming up. The shoes are almost on. I pretty much know what to expect for tomorrow.
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