Just Ask

So running last night made my physically sick. Guess I shouldn't have pushed myself quite as hard. I tried to do some interval training between telephone poles-sprint then jog. I always imagine that I am stronger than I actually am. Whatever.

Being that I was wiped out by six-I snuggled on the couch until I could justify it was late enough to snuggle into my bed at eight. I went to bed early so my typical evening routine which includes cleaning up downstairs was obviously neglected. 

Naturally upon waking the next morning I was gifted with a mess-relatively small but there was a mess all the same. Of course I had to mention how ridiculous it is that I'm the only one who can ensure things get done before bed. In my mind it really wasn't a big deal and I kind of enjoy that kind of tidying up because the results are easy to come by. Since the work wasn't really the issue I had to take a step back and do a little digging to find the root of the problem. 

I had already gotten three of the five out the door and it seemed as though everyone was bent on having a terrible day. I always feel my blood pressure rise when the complaints begin:"I am so stressed out I have a presentation today.", "My knee is bothering me.","I can't find my shoes somebody moved them.", "Gavin ate the rest of the cereal and put the empty bag away". I guess it's the timing that gets to me. "I need new shoes these ones hurt my feet", is always heard as we are on our way out the door. As if I can do anything about it right now. 

When I can't resolve the problem immediately I get resentful and frustrated. For some reason I take it to heart and feel as though I'm failing because they aren't completely happy. My frustration turns to irritability and I snap back, "Why are you guys always complaining?". That does nothing good-it doesn't even make ME feel better temporarily I just feel inadequate. Essentially what happens-it gets added to the list of things to do-the list I can't possibly accomplish in this lifetime. I am the one who gets to carry all their problems-get dumped on. They don't give any thought to the combined weight of their issues on my shoulders. Of course they don't I'm the mom and they are the kids. It is my job to listen, take note and balance all their concerns big or small- important or not.

And I just really don't feel strong enough. That's when I pray for help. I pretty much have a prayer in my heart all day long. A stream-of-conscientiousness conversation with my Heavenly Father.

So our dark middle child sketched this in church in about 5 minutes but decided he didn't like how it turned out. We teased him about her hands and Kylie quickly quipped, "If you put her hands together it would look like Mom praying." We exchanged a knowing smile.