Yesterday was a huge step for me. My husband was at work, no schooling had been done, my house was also in need of some tlc. My kids were playing, fighting, playing, fighting. I yelled, yelled and yelled some more.
I had plans for us to go to the library, we were getting ready to head out the door, waiting for my 4 year old to get his socks on, when I tossed each of my boys an apple. Then arguing ensued over who's apple was who's. I made a quick decision and said "That's it we are not going". My younger son upset and full of tears grabbed the socks that were destined for his little feet and in a soft shaky voice pleaded that he would put his socks on for me so we could go to the library. No, no I wasn't going to have it. I was done, done, done, done. So what else was I to do but in my anger, not go to God but eat a cookie while cleaning the kitchen, of course. Then eating another cookie and doing some laundry and again, eating another cookie and moving the furniture to vacuum.
Yes folks, I have issues!
An angry mom on a cleaning rampage is bound to take total advantage of this moment and get her 9 year son to push the furniture back and finish the vacuuming, empty the dishwasher and whatever else she can think of, oh yes, clean something. Actually I just grabbed paper towel and cleaner, handed it to my son and pointed in the general direction of the bathroom, with angry eyes on my face, he saw and headed toward anywhere I pointed. The other son of mine thought it probably nice to clean up his toys and tidy something, and the socks? They are now definitely on his feet. funny! ha.
After the cleaning frenzy was over the boys retreated to a bedroom to play with Thomas the Train. The instant I heard something fishy (arguing and hitting) I went in and gracefully cleaned up to train set and put the bin somewhere high. Yes, I wrecked what they were working on and I probably ate another cookie while I was doing it too. I'm kidding I don't even remember. Now of course they would be upset, especially the younger of the two. Ranting and raving of how he was going to get it back and that little darling hand of his was ready to strike at any moment (yes at me).
yes he hit me.
Then something happened, I didn't yell.
I calmly dragged him to his room to try to calm him down (still talking about the 4 year old, the 9 yr old was waiting for disipline on the couch). I sang Jesus Loves Me, tried hugging him, tried doing both at the same time, putting him on his bed and wanting to pray with him. All to fail miserably. I in my great wisdom (note the sarcasm), went back to the kitchen, thought for a moment (oh God, help) then grabbed another cookie (or something like that). By this time the 4 yr old had calmed down. So I proceeded to do what I thought best, PRAY.
I took each boy and prayed with them.
That's it. We prayed.
God is growing me. You wanna know why??
Cause we prayed, in my fury we prayed. The old me would have never done that.
God is so good!