When God Speaks

I am cleaning up syrup again. At least I'm not sick this time, but really, this is getting old. I am finding new puddles, one of which is on N's coat, which she was about to put on to go to the bus stop.
I was only upstairs for ten minutes.
I start looking for N's other coat, as I realize that I haven't made her lunch yet.
I realize that I don't know what the weather is supposed to be like today.
I find her rain coat--fortunately, it's raining. I make a quick lunch, and take N outside to the bus stop, praying I don't find new puddles of syrup when I come back inside.

I come back inside and start cleaning up syrup..again, though no new puddles as far as I can tell.
I tell B firmly that this syrup thing must stop.
I can't believe I am having to do this again. I am so sick of cleaning up syrup. I am so sick of cleaning. Period. I briefly fantasize about going back to bed, but B and O screaming in the living room brings me out of it. I say a prayer that I won't lose my mind today. I think of those people who talk about hearing God speak to them. I wonder if I have ever really heard God speak to me. B and O are fighting, and screaming again. The TV that I had turned off as punishment for the syrup thing is back on. Some toy is repeatedly saying "Come play! Come play!". I briefly wonder if maybe God does speak to me, and there's just too much background noise for me to hear.

I find a new puddle of syrup. I tell B this syrup thing is ridiculous and there will be no more syrup if this is what he's going to do with it. (I said this last time, but N asked why she should have to suffer for something B did, and I thought she had a point). B is not listening. He is rummaging around in the cabinet in the living room where some of my work related books are. He comes into the kitchen holding a book. I am on my knees scrubbing syrup.
"This is SO not OK!" I tell him. "No more syrup!"
He throws the book at me...the title of the book is The Difficult Child.
Oh, the irony.

I ask God for grace. Or a nanny. Or a nanny named Grace. I picture a nanny named Grace showing up at my door. I briefly hope maybe this will be one of those incredible moments of faith, and I imagine how Grace the (volunteer) nanny will become a part of our family, and won't mind sleeping in the basement. I listen for a moment, in case God plans on speaking to me by sending me a nanny named Grace.
No one knocks at the door.

I realize that B's hair is covered in syrup, so I put O in his high chair, give him a banana, and take B to the shower. He yells that he doesn't want a shower. He wants a bath. I tell him I don't want to be scrubbing syrup off the floor. I want to be in the Bahamas. But we can't always have what we want. I tell him that if he continues to make me clean up syrup, I will continue to make him take showers. I tell myself that at least he (hopefully) won't need a bath tonight.

Showering a strong willed three-year-old who doesn't want a shower is kind of like wrestling with an alligator. But we survive. As I attempt to get him dressed, he tells me that he doesn't want a shirt on, or a diaper, but not underwear either. He doesn't want pants. Or socks. I make him put it all on anyway. I am ready for a nap. Jimmy is downstairs, asking me where our tax paperwork is so he can meet with the accountant. I tell him, and hope I didn't forget anything. But know that I probably did.

I have a crappy mommy moment as I remember that O is still in the high chair downstairs. I thank God for mellow third children. B is on my lap, somewhat calmer, after letting me put his pants on. He tells me he didn't like the shower. I tell him I'm sorry, but where there's syrup, there will be a shower.
"But mom, " he says sweetly, "I just don't want to go down the drain". I tell him he won't go down the drain. I decide we've talked enough about syrup.

I go back downstairs to take O out of his high chair and clean up the kitchen--again.
I tell myself that at least my floor is getting washed a lot this week. At least I have a new coffee maker. At least I have three kids who need me, even if that means a lot of work some days, and an unbelievable amount of work other days. At least I am here to do it. I realize I'm much calmer and think maybe God has been speaking to me, after all. And as I finish cleaning the kitchen, I'm almost certain I hear Him say,  "Really? Why are you still buying syrup?"

Yup, He spoke to me. I'm sure of it.
Sorry kids. No more syrup. God said so.


Copyright 2012 Author of The NBO Chronicles. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction without permission.. Simple template. Template images by Ailime. Powered by Blogger.