I’m not sure yet, if yesterday was a #fail sort of day, an #epicfail or just a #moderatelyfailingbutsortofsucceeding kind of day.
I’m also not sure if using a Twitter reference and hashtags (#) is a good idea, especially when I don’t tweet, nor do I fully understand the whole concept of hashtagging (is that a word?) in the first place.
I live on the precipice of technological competence, but only on the precipice. I sleep with someone who is immersed in the technological world, and absolutely is brilliant with pretty much anything to do with computers, networks, and the “internets”.
In case you were worried, he also happens to be my husband.
Anyway being so close to such technological brilliance lends itself to a bit of technological laziness on my part – hence, the ambiguity about hashtags...#lazy?
Back to today.
The morning started out alright, although it may just be that I am a little over-sensitive having started the 17 Day Diet 4 days ago in order to finally lose the last 10, which should really be 15, but I like eating too much to care about the really last 5, pounds of baby bulge.
I don’t know if you’ve picked up on the fact that my baby is almost 3.
I know that diets are not a lifestyle change, they can be good for breaking habits. I say this based on the fact that I have done one other diet in my life, after I had the same problem with the baby bulge of 2003, and it did help me quite a bit, except for the two pregnancies that happened thereafter. #familyplanning?
Anyway, when a girl starts treating cinnamon buns like a vegetable, it’s time for a hard-reset. (#iphone!)
All of this to say that not eating any breads, chips, pop, candy, chocolate or anything that has sugar of any kind has perhaps contributed to my terseness today. I was led to believe that day three would be the hardest, and I rocked it...turns out I’m a hard day four kind of girl.
As I said umpteen paragraphs earlier, the day started out fine. I kept it together for the little squabbles and issues that came about for the morning.
And I ate a carrot stick. Yum.
I had moderate control when there were a dozen kids in the school room making invitations for our school open house.
I even kept moderate control as the kids and the other moms had the sinfully delicious looking rice krispie squares with nutella icing that our babysitter had made the night before.
I should first point out that if I wasn’t so sure that our babysitter was an angel sent from God, I would think she was evil and hated me... but that’s just not the case. Secondly, I should also point out that my dear friends “took one for the team” and ate a second one in order to clean out the pan while I munched on a delicious Texas Red Grapefruit.
They were only thinking of me.
I am such a lucky girl.
I didn’t even lose it when I had to assign some extra chores to a couple of kids for being a too sassy and disobedient at the lunch table.
But then...oh then.
In the space of 20 minutes I went from thinking we were heading for a peaceful quiet-time to wishing that I would be struck dead and someone else would be left to clean up the mess.
It started when the two that were given the penance/bathroom duty, put dirty dishes in the clean half-unloaded dishwasher, thereby rendering approximately one quarter of those that were left needed a re-wash.
I may have had a bit of a growly tone when I explained that it was necessary to CHECK THE DISHES FIRST BEFORE YOU DUMP YOUR CHOCOLATE MILK DRIBBLES ALL OVER THE CLEAN CUTLERY. Maybe.
I began madly unloading the dishwasher in a desperate attempt to clean the kitchen and get to the long awaited quiet-time, cause Thursdays are our busiest day and did I ever need it!
Then Tyson came running into the kitchen and says quite matter-of-factly “Blech. Keaton is stinky.” This was not good news, because Keaton, believe it or not, is potty-trained.
He is potty trained except for when he is upstairs sneaking into his brothers’ room and the bathroom door next to said room is locked as it is being cleaned by a certain delinquent child. If that happens, then it turns out that he will try to run to the downstairs bathroom. He’ll #notmakeit and then he’ll come to me in the kitchen, and he’ll have a very guilty and worried look on his face.
He should have looked guilty because he knew what I would find: a trail of pee in the upstairs hallway, followed by smears of poop down every step and a lovely pile of hot steaming poop on the tile entryway.
My afternoon just got #awesome.
I put him in the nearest bathroom on the toilet, mostly just to contain him, while I went madly cleaning up hot, steaming poop, poop smears and pee trails. With four other kids in the house, this couldn’t wait.
I may have been feeling a tad sorry for myself at that moment. I may also have been willing to trade a child or two for a cinnamon bun.
Then I realized that the bathtub was being scrubbed, and I really didn’t want to carry him back up the stairs, and it felt a little macabre to stick a poopy kid in a tub that was being scrubbed that very minute. So I began to even more madly try and load the dishwasher to clear out a sink for a birdbath.
I’m not even done yet. The poop is the stinkiest part, I’ll admit it, but I’m not even done...We are at about 10 minutes into the 20, in case you wondered.
I rinse out the sink and flip the garberator switch to drain the sink.
I stop it to find that I have destroyed two shot glasses. These surprisingly aren’t used for alcohol – although I might consider it after today –they are for espresso shots, made every morning for yours truly by the hot computer tech I wake up to every morning.
They have been annihilated. It happens to be that one old one and one new one were wrecked, so I no longer have a matching set, which also may drive me to drink.
I fish them out and then proceed to finish the dishwasher, at which point I notice there are copious amounts of water suddenly rushing from under the cupboard and onto the floor. The garberator is leaking, a lot. #possiblyrelatedtoshotglasses
At that point, I started shouting/whining/growling for help and towels at this point...keep in mind I still have a crying poop-laden almost-three year old trapped on the toilet in the other room.
We still have 5 minutes to go – can you believe it?
I quickly clean out the other side of the sink because it was clear that I must not use the side with the leaky garberator. The dishes are now in the dishwasher. I start it, cause I want to feel like I am #winning at something in my life in that moment.
I grab the sorry looking three year old and gracefully wash him clean in the sink.
Gracefully, much like bathing a cat is a graceful.
I was totally feeling sorry for myself at this point. I wondered why, on a day when I needed extra grace that so much grace was being demanded from me. I didn’t have it in me to give. It left with the chocolate.
My almost-three year old was now clean and in need of a towel, but there weren’t any nearby, cause they were just used to sop up garberator water.
Are you wondering about the dishwasher? Cause you should be.
This could have been a 19 minute catastrophe had I the good sense to realize that the dishwasher would empty through the same side as the garberator. It did. And water came forth. “Fortunately” everything had already been pulled out from under the sink, and I had a plethora of half wet towels readily available to stem the tides. I didn’t even need to shout or ask for help. For the record, it wasn’t all the water from the dishwasher, just whatever leaked through on its way to the main drain. And it only took a few seconds to fix the problem cause I was right there. #phew!
My poor shivering child by this point had given up on ever being helped again by his pouty mother and was naked and curled up under his covers in bed. Thankfully he hadn’t fallen asleep like that, or the motherly guilt regarding the whole situation might have been too much for me.
“It Cold-y” was all he said, clutching his favourite Spiderman PJ’s.
I picked him up, and as I was dressing him, my indignant attitude began to melt.
I realized how easy it is for me to let my feelings take charge when I things aren’t going my way. To think that life is all about me and how I’m feeling. I’m not advocating ignoring feelings at all – but I think it does more harm than good when I don’t control my feelings like I should.
I realized that it’s easy for me to expect grace before I am willing to give it. #ouch
I rocked my clean little stinker. He gave me grace and love when I didn’t deserve anything but judgement and scorn.
He relaxed into my arms like there was nowhere else he would rather be. Considering the flap I had been in only a few minutes earlier, that in itself was amazing.
He asked me to sing to him, so I did. As I sang to this beautiful growing boy in my arms I began to feel remorse. I apologized for sounding so angry at everyone. And he forgave me- without a lecture or a disapproving look.
Mind you, he’s three.
And I’m almost thankful for that 20 minutes of insanity today because it reminded me again that my feelings about what is going on matter, but I need to remember that letting my feelings go on a rampage can be less that ideal.
Emotions are real, they shouldn’t be ignored. I’m the first to admit I love adding excitement, exaggeration and what-not to my life.
But letting feelings lead, especially when those feeling are frustration, self-pity and the like, can be dangerous. I don’t want to wound people with my words or tone. I want to run those feelings through a filter of grace first.
Everything goes better that way, and I have far less apologizing to do.
Next time though, I could live without the poop. #stilllearning J