This morning I planted flowers in my pajamas. With a burned and blistered index finger, I touched all things tenderly and wiped mud on my bathrobe.
Twenty minutes later I was drinking sugared coffee and the silence led me to the Under-Four’s, digging enthusiastically. I didn’t know it, but the Snapdragons wanted to be in a cozy place in the flower bed.
He asked me why they’re called “beds”.
I don’t know, and soon we all fight about swings and turns. At one point, I sent my husband an email that simply said, “Your plan is not working.” (we had discussed discipline issues the night before and he had come up with a plan…that was not working).
Inside I slam the phone alone because no one is listening, and then I deal with guilt for a mid morning snack. When I return to reality, half the Cheez Its have been eaten, straight from the box. So we Play Doh.
The baby poops in a chair and the brown ooze sludges all over like toxic gunk, but I scoop up the baby and sing M.C. Hammer. I wash the One Who Has Found His Hands, and he stares at me as I try to navigate wrinkles.
They are un-navigatable.
I hope for the best and at least he smells good. The middle one starts crying in the middle of Mr. Jeremy Fisher because he needs a tent. My coffee is cold, and I have a tummy ache anyway, and my eyes are tired, and everything is stinky and whiny…even me.
I eat spaghetti at 1 p.m. and hope the carbs get me through till 4 p.m., and maybe one more cup of coffee…
My friend sent me a message of trials, big trials. She said she was “living by the Spirit alone” and I laugh and tell her that I have been “living by coffee alone”.
I sit exhausted, wearing my Slytherin shirt (because I have a soft spot for bad guys) and reflect on the morning.
Today is a day for Spirit living.
I pray with my eyes open (otherwise I’ll fall asleep), and it’s a simple, tired prayer: “Help”.