Feed on

Heaven Help Me

Even though this morning began in the bathroom with a late warning from my son, “be careful, mommy…I forgot to wipe the seat, ” the rest of the day shaped into a glorious chaotic experience, which I can only credit to the mercy of God.

That my son would rather spin around in his sister’s Christmas and Easter dresses than sit on the sidelines in his own sad jeans has probably been duly noted.  But today was a new record for dresses.  Which began with the yellow sundress.  And ended somewhere with the same yellow sundress, only it was buried beneath one Christmas dress and two from Easter. Which, when I thought about it, was certainly more appropriate in twenty-six degrees.  Four versus one, that is.

Only four dresses was also the reason I had to wipe down the bathroom floor with dish towels, soak up what was puddled on the toilet seat, shake my head at the wall beside the toilet and then wash dress number four.  Somebody couldn’t get un-dressed in time.

In the minute or more it took me to watch cheese melt in a pan, both my children, one in just three dresses, built their version of the Grand Coulee Dam across our hallway.  No dog bed, gym mat, pillow or blanket was left behind.  Only people.  Me in the kitchen.  And them somewhere over there.  Which, if you can imagine, sucked all their energy straight from their bones, such that when it came to, say, put dog beds, pillows and blankets away, no zeal was left.  Nada.  Zilch.  Zippykins.  Only, if you could imagine that, imagine this:  Their mother–uh, me–didn’t yank her last hair out.  She didn’t even whimper her disapproval.

Because the mess seemed to have no hold on me.

And as soon as it didn’t–call it what you want–I’ll call it the grace of God–my kids and I unbuilt their architectural dam and put them dresses away. 

That I would stare at our last pound of beef in the freezer at three thirty and then hustle both kids in the van for a trip to Stewart’s for a serious portion of cow doesn’t make sense even now.  Only my daughter read to herself the whole thirty-five minutes there, and my son counted the hills.  Nobody poked anyone or whined about being poked or claimed the other was touching his seat or breathing in his face.

As I talked ground beef with the guy behind the counter, my kids clung to each other and gaped at the guy sawing the meat off the cow carcus.  Only my daughter who dreams of paintbrushes and pastels admitted she thought she wanted to be a butcher now because “you really get to explore and learn about the animals.”  By which time I told her a book on cows could do the same thing.

Anyway…all this to say or not say…

when I invited God along for the day…he came.  And when I let go…get this…

he caught me….*shaking head*…he caught me.

And, well, that’s about all I have to say about today.


2 Responses to “Heaven Help Me”

  1. Sarah says:

    He does that some times doesn’t he?

  2. Perry Olson says:

    This was a super. Most of all I loved it that you invited God into your day and He showed up. Way to let go girl!


Leave a Reply

Skip to toolbar