Bible School is behind us. It was simultaneously the best and most difficult week of teaching I have ever had. I am relieved and a bit sad it is over. I always leave those weeks standing a little straighter, feeling slightly better about myself. I am good with children. I do enjoy them. They even like me in return. And then, just as I feel my pride start to swell, I return to my own brood. And I swear I hear God chuckling.
I had been looking forward to returning to normal summer activities without the exhausting schedule that left us all irritable and worthless in the afternoons. This morning I planned to grocery shop, catch up on laundry and get some household chores done to free up the rest of the week for pools and parks and play dates. But my children woke up surly and whiny and completely, illogically, disgusted with each other.
And I think I hit my last nerve somewhere around breakfast.
And now I am melancholy and irritated at myself that I cannot drum up more enthusiasm for another week spent with my preschoolers. What kind of mother sits and fantasizes about getting a job and handing the whole lot of them off to someone else to deal with for the summer? Because that's the mother I am today.
Which is a mighty fine attitude for one who is supposed to be working on swapping complaints for gratitude. Ah well, it's almost nap time. I am infinitely grateful for that.
And now I must go, because Clara has taken to spitting at Ben and he finally got fed up with it and slugged her. Can't really say I blame him. But now they are both screaming.
What is it about Mondays?