So, today is Tuesday. And originally I had planned to unwrap some goodness within this bad boy.
But then I found myself standing in my one year old’s room at 2 a.m. And then I woke up and realized it was because she was screaming hysterically. After some cuddle time with the Daddy and Mama, she allowed herself to be consoled and re-night nighted.
And then I didn’t sleep well because she’s outgrown her snuggle sleeper and all of her footy pajamas are dirty and she pulls her socks off and she never stays neatly tucked beneath the warm blanket. Ever.
And then it was 6:30 and my alarm was screaming at me to wake up and spend some time with Him in Ruth’s world. At 6:50 I obeyed.
At 7 a.m. with coffee prepared and Bible open, the faint stirrings of one wide eyed rejector of the covers blarred through the baby monitor. I ignored them and half-heartedly moved through the third to last day of what has proven to be a life changing study for me.
7:30 a.m. – The stirrer was retrieved from her crib cage and placed [lovingly] on the floor while I prepared her milk. This was unacceptable and the consequences of my 12 hour a nighter’s interrupted sleep began to rear their ugly heads. A fit and the sippy cup were thrown…while I dutifully pulled homemade waffle ingredients out and placed them on the one bare spot on my counter. THIS is why you should always stay up late to clean up the kitchen if you must. Because waking up to a dirty kitchen is a sure fire way to get yourself a not so unwrappable Tuesday.
At 7:40, I attempted to appease the angry, albeit adorable, one year old with banana slices. When I turned around, she was throwing them to Belle the dog. When I told her not to throw them down, she furrowed her brow, rubbed her hands together violently, and screamed. I ignored her.
At 7:45, the first batch of waffles was ready. The carb lover ate them happily, entirely untempted to share any with Belle the dog.
At 8 a.m. the kitchen was [mostly] clean, the stinker was [semi]entertained by a movie, and I headed back to the computer for my morning check of the email and the favorite blogs. And I agreed wholeheartedly with The Nester while lamenting the patience needed in my endeavor to make this house our next house. And desperately wondering how I can get it to smell like us and not like it did the first day we walked in it – which I hated then and I hate now. And felt grateful for this gal’s honesty. And we said goodbye to The Hunk while one no longer entertained grumpy pants stood on my lap and screamed in my ear. He, of course, did not get to leave until he heard all about the causes of my grumpiness. The cleaning that must take place today. The overwhelming desire to be that woman I saw in Publix yesterday…with her pretty dress, high heels, perfectly cut and highlighted hair…instead of my own not gonna take a shower until late afternoon self.
And then, approximately 5 minutes ago, while I was typing one of those sentences a few lines up, The Hunk called because we have an inspector of some sort coming to the house in about an hour. This caused a “What the crap?!” to fly from my lips and land on the innocent ear of the same sweet husband who after listening to my whining and before leaving the house said, “You are a good wife and mama. I love you.”
After explaining that I wasn’t mad at him, just mad in general, I came back to wrap this post up. So I can start washing clothes that will be dirtied again very soon. And cleaning bathrooms that will need it again tomorrow. And vaccuming carpet that is so stained you can never actually tell when it’s been cleaned. All while trying to pacify a very grumpy walking machine.
I’m just sayin’ that as of 8:36 a.m, this Tuesday is not lookin’ like it was meant to be unwrapped. I promise to look for unwrappable moments, and I’ll let you know if any pop up. For now, though, I just thought the rest of the blogging world might like to know that occasionally I want to wrap my Tuesday right back up and return it to the giver. And that really is the point, right? To look for the surpise of the good amidst the frustration of the mundane.
And look I will. I promise.