Today started out horribly.
There's no other word for it.
I didn't sleep well (Steve has been gone to California since Tuesday, and it's tough for me to sleep alone), and neither did my kids--all three of them are miserably sick with, according to the doctors, some combination of influenza, strep throat, pink eye, and ear infections, not to mention the rasping coughs they all have...I sometimes feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of midget smokers.
Anyways, so those factors all combined to make waking up this morning not-so-fun.
Add to that the irritation I felt from having to reschedule my doctor's appointment (for the third time), my guilt over cancelling piano lessons (again), and the frustration of a house that started out the week already trashed from my business over the Sweetheart Ball and has only gotten significantly worse since, and you have a pretty cranky mom, who still had to dole out medications to three children who are not interested in taking medications, as well as put eye drops into the eyes of a thrashing, screaming four-year-old.
Then, halfway through breakfast, Jack pooped his pants, and I pretty much lost it. I spanked him and sent him to the bathroom, then texted Steve: "Jack just pooped his pants. Can I call you? I'm legitimately concerned that I might start beating a child."
He texted back immediately: "Call me."
So I did. And after approximately fifteen minutes of him listening to me rant, scream, cry, and rave in general about how hard I had it, he managed to talk me back into a sense of semi-normalcy, and I was able to wash Jack up, hug him and tell him I was sorry for losing my temper, and get the kids all down for naps.
When they woke up from their naps, however, it jumped right back into the stressful situation--Clark had a temperature of 103.5* F and was crying unless I held him, Maggie was fussy unless I held her, and Jack once again freaked out as I tried to administer his eye drops (anyone have any tips on how to administer antibiotic eye drops--that sting, nonetheless--to a ridiculously strong four-year-old without having to resort to sitting on him? Anyone?).
I felt frustrated and exhausted, and started praying for help, and that is when the miracle happened: my sister, Molly, walked in the door, shortly before my friend, Megan, came over to help.
Megan immediately took the kids in to color, and Molly helped me fold approximately 5 or 6 loads of laundry, clean out the boys' room, scrub the walls, change out all of the bedding (which probably should have been changed out several days ago), and vacuum the floor.
By the time these two angels left, the kids were happily tucked in to bed, and I was feeling a smidgen of my sanity returning.
Spencer W. Kimball once said: "God does watch over us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."
I'm grateful to know that He watches over me. So grateful.
There's no other word for it.
I didn't sleep well (Steve has been gone to California since Tuesday, and it's tough for me to sleep alone), and neither did my kids--all three of them are miserably sick with, according to the doctors, some combination of influenza, strep throat, pink eye, and ear infections, not to mention the rasping coughs they all have...I sometimes feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of midget smokers.
Anyways, so those factors all combined to make waking up this morning not-so-fun.
Add to that the irritation I felt from having to reschedule my doctor's appointment (for the third time), my guilt over cancelling piano lessons (again), and the frustration of a house that started out the week already trashed from my business over the Sweetheart Ball and has only gotten significantly worse since, and you have a pretty cranky mom, who still had to dole out medications to three children who are not interested in taking medications, as well as put eye drops into the eyes of a thrashing, screaming four-year-old.
Then, halfway through breakfast, Jack pooped his pants, and I pretty much lost it. I spanked him and sent him to the bathroom, then texted Steve: "Jack just pooped his pants. Can I call you? I'm legitimately concerned that I might start beating a child."
He texted back immediately: "Call me."
So I did. And after approximately fifteen minutes of him listening to me rant, scream, cry, and rave in general about how hard I had it, he managed to talk me back into a sense of semi-normalcy, and I was able to wash Jack up, hug him and tell him I was sorry for losing my temper, and get the kids all down for naps.
When they woke up from their naps, however, it jumped right back into the stressful situation--Clark had a temperature of 103.5* F and was crying unless I held him, Maggie was fussy unless I held her, and Jack once again freaked out as I tried to administer his eye drops (anyone have any tips on how to administer antibiotic eye drops--that sting, nonetheless--to a ridiculously strong four-year-old without having to resort to sitting on him? Anyone?).
I felt frustrated and exhausted, and started praying for help, and that is when the miracle happened: my sister, Molly, walked in the door, shortly before my friend, Megan, came over to help.
Megan immediately took the kids in to color, and Molly helped me fold approximately 5 or 6 loads of laundry, clean out the boys' room, scrub the walls, change out all of the bedding (which probably should have been changed out several days ago), and vacuum the floor.
By the time these two angels left, the kids were happily tucked in to bed, and I was feeling a smidgen of my sanity returning.
Spencer W. Kimball once said: "God does watch over us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."
I'm grateful to know that He watches over me. So grateful.
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