It’s been one of those days. The last straw was glass-splintering-decibel-level screaming from downstairs JUST as I sat down on the metaphorical throne to pee. I run out, barely even done, only to find the kids feverishly yelling from one floor down – asking if Missy M could eat rice with her hands.
I blow up. I mean, I deserved my two minutes of pee-alone time without being interrupted by ear-piercing queries about Indian eating customs. My unsuspecting progeny are in for the Mount Narjala explosion. Feelings that I can’t control spiral up. Words that I can’t take back spew out.
Dinner is now being eaten in complete silence. Like not-a-whimper silence.
I’m now in “I’ve scarred them for life/ I’m such a loser mom” mode.
Hubby comes home after the said explosion to a Waterfall Susan – inexplicable tears, a mixture of anger, tiredness and guilt between wails of “I can’t do it all.”
Following that, I resort to what every sensible woman does when she’s had one of those days. I break out the charmingly chewy chocolate chip cookies for dinner. Not for after dinner. Just for my main course.
Deconstructing the day: cookies for dinner means a rough day. A rough day means I’m trying to do too much. Trying to do too much usually means I’m trying to prove my worth.
The chorus of my life – when I exchange my human being status for a human doing one.
Today my worth-o-meter was measured by volunteering at Sonny boy’s elementary school, hitting three grocery stores, picking up Missy M from school, unloading enough groceries to feed a small country, attempting to write freelance assignment while Missy M had a severe case of verbal diarrhea, picking up Sonny Boy from school, taking the kidlings to Taekwondo lessons, heading to grocery store four for milk, making dinner, getting the offspring bathed and dressed, getting homework done, feeding them dinner – all before 6 pm.
And then my little mommy meltdown happened. Yup, meltdowns are not just for little peeps.
But the good thing is, neither are time outs. That’s what was missing in my day – time out with God.
Not that the yelling would have disappeared or my to-do list magically fulfilled. But I may have seen things a little differently. Like the meaning of my life wasn’t tied to a Wal-Mart run.
You can’t spend time with your Maker without some alteration, a hole being darned or a rip being sewn. And sometimes when you’ve been through the wash, rinse, spin, repeat cycle, you just need to hang out in the warm dryer and have a spa day with God.