I was having a day.
There hadn't been one major event. There was just a lot of little people demanding my attention at one time. There was a breakfast where I may have said something about, "I don't think I am your personal breakfast slave!" which didn't have the intended effect at all because instead of being convicted of their unreasonable demands that I do nineteen things at once while standing on my head, there was ... giggling at mommy calling herself a "breakfast slave." But I was feeling like a slave which ultimately probably boils down to the fact that breakfast in our house isn't very organized and it becomes a conglomeration of granola bars and bananas and cereal and oatmeal and waffles and OJ, milk, and water all rolled into one with lots of spilling and asking the dog to please leave the kitchen ... no, wait ... please come back and eat what just fell on the floor.
Oh and, yeah, this past week JB had worked a lot. That's not a bad thing. His job is awesome. It was just a fact. And I was just feeling like I hadn't had a break in awhile. Well, not even a break. A shower. I hadn't had a shower in, ummm ... is this day three?
And I thought I needed a break. No, I deserved a break. And before I knew it I was taking my husband's wonderful and helpful comment that he would try to vacuum because the dog hair was so bad personally and convincing myself that he was saying that because I didn't vacuum enough. (Which is actually true.) But which of course was not the case at all. He was saying he wanted to try to help more. Sweet man. And instead, I decided that I would make the time and vacuum the living room because Arrrggghhh the stinkin' dog hair, and of course, it would make me seem a little bit more righteous and correct if I ended up vacuuming and getting it done before he could step in and do it.
In the midst of my vacuuming, I was honestly fighting back tears. Probably hormonal tears mind you, although what woman actually knows they are hormonal tears while she is actually fighting them back? In my mind, they were very justified tears. Tears of feeling like I just didn't have a single second and that I really just wanted a Mountain Dew and chocolate of any variety but that I really wanted to lose that last ten pounds so that I could fit into my pants for winter. Not so much because I needed to fit into the pants but because when you are 6'3" and no longer live in Turkey where seamstresses can make your pants for you for an insanely little bit of money, you have to pay a minimum of $67 for any good pair of pants and that was just entirely too much. So if I could please say no to the Mountain Dew and chocolate of any variety maybe I would stand a chance to not have to blow $67 times three or four pairs of pants to get me through my first winter in five years.
And if I could get to the gym at any time in the future that would help as well. Although the sign in the gym that said, "Workout is 20% and Nutrition is 80% -- You can't outwork your fork," had really had an impact on me, and I realized that saying no to the Mountain Dew (which would provide an incredible Caffeine boost at this incredibly tiring 1pm hour of the day) was probably way more important than getting to the gym.
"But well," I began, deciding that I would try to pray instead of whining, "You know God, thanks for listening to me rant and nearly cry here for a bit. But while I am down here and you are up there, I just want you to know that I am sorta feeling a bit alone right now. I know I am not alone because there are like, a lot of people here in my house, but I just sorta need to know that you got my back and that I am not going to totally screw my kids up by giving them the whole 'breakfast and slave' speech again."
And at that, I decided, randomly, to vacuum under the couch cushions. No idea why. I haven't vacuumed under the couch cushions in, shoot, years? But I did. And ... I kid you not, there was a tiny yellow piece of paper sitting under the couch cushion just staring right back at me.
You seriously cannot make this stuff up.
Just when you think He isn't listening ...
Maybe He is.
(And maybe I sorta heard him whisper that I should sit down and have a Mountain Dew.)