Some days I wish it was except able to tell my kids as soon as they woke up:
” There’s coffee in the pot and probably goldfish on the floor you can have.”
Mostly because that’s what my breakfast consisted of. You would be lying to me if I asked you if you had eaten leftover snacks , residue from your toddler left on the freshly mopped floor, and you said no. I see the wheels turning in your head. That was an expensive freaking snack. I stood in line for what seemed like hours, demanding my children put back the candy the store so conveniently placed to torture parents.
I saw you sneak a bite , then throw the rest into the trash can.
Lately my children have been more mischievous than usual. And while I’m patiently waiting for my anti anxiety medicine to work it’s magic , they are having secret meetings and taking bets to see how many times they can flush toys down the toilet before I have a mental breakdown.
Their meetings , I’m pretty sure… Happen during their nightly showers, in which they claim they ” washed all their butts, and don’t need help.”
One of the perks to their meetings last night was to open my fresh bottle of expensive shampoo ( which is any shampoo higher than $5 ) that I found at TJ Maxx. They decided to start the summer celebrating early and make a slip and slide in the shower, with said expensive shampoo. To my dismay Rhema had some how snuck in the sunscreen into the shower and was applying it to her hair. She probably put it in there before I started the shower. At least she cares about skin cancer.
How did all this happen without me noticing you ask? Because I was scarfing down my dinner , sitting on the toilet and watching a baby in the bathtub. My baby. I think.
I smelled the scent of the new shampoo and stopped the party. It took twice as long to wash off all the suds, mostly because they were cowering in the corner afraid I was going to murder them. They started screaming :
” We’re sorry we’re sorry mom! It wasn’t my fault!!!”
As if I usually beat them? I’m hurt.
Being slightly upset about the entire bottle of shampoo wasted, I noted that they would in fact not need another bath for a year, and mentally checked off bath time forever in my mind. Good that will give me more time to learn to knit.
What I’m learning in this season of crazytown is that even though I opted to take medication to help with my panic attacks, it doesn’t control my gratitude.
It doesn’t automatically make me grateful I have children. That’s my own deal. I’m learning to not complain so much and really buckle down and know that my kids will do stupid stuff.
Like all day.
Because they’re kids, and they will test me. Just like I disobey sometimes.
They will throw refried beans in my hair during a family dinner date that I asked for because I was too exhausted to cook dinner. They will take off their diapers and pee on the floor and they will see just how far they can go, in every area.
It’s my job to guide them, and to be grateful I have them to guide . To love. To kiss. To hug.
So my hope cannot be in whether this medication will work for my body. My hope is in Christ, and when I draw closer to his heart I become grateful for my crazy, wild and outrageously loving children.
Today I’m thankful I have them. And tomorrow I want to wake up thankful and do it all over again.