“Peaceness”

This was the state of our kitchen table one morning last week. Like the organized and responsible mother I am (ah-hem), I waited until Thursday morning to put together Mother’s Day Cards for the mothers in our lives. It went, like most things, far from perfectly. Ava found a box of staples and pulled them all out and then started throwing paint, while Cade couldn’t find the right stickers and got much too enthusiastic with the glitter (red to make matters worse). Kelty was perfectionistically creating her cards with every single art supply we owned because it was “really important, Mom.” All the while, I am on and off the phone trying to make a hair appointment and set up a birthday party. Holy Moly. My mothering capacity finally hit its limit when Kelty started crying because I hadn’t written down what she wanted to say to Nana fast enough. I lost it, I’m afraid–raised my voice and spoke much too harshly. After my tirade, I declared that I “needed a minute” and headed out to the front porch where I demanded that everyone leave me alone for a while. In frustration, I plopped down in a chair outside with my head in my hands.

About two and a half seconds later, I hear the glass door squeak open. I start to raise my head, about to lay into whichever little person dared not to heed my warning, when I felt a small hand on my back. It was kickin- the-preacher Cade (see previous post), who leaned down into my face and said quietly, “Can we pray for you, Mom?” (What do you say to that?) He immediately closed his little eyes and prayed, “Dear Lawd, help Mom to have peaceness in her hart.” Kelty was there, too, and she then said a flowery prayer with hands folded including a request that I would know that I was “the best woman in the whole world.”

Wow. They didn’t leave me out there to pout or to stew. They didn’t wait for me to come inside and apologize to them for exploding emotionally because of a situation that was a result of my own poor planning. They didn’t head out to the porch to point out the damage my words and anger had done to them. Instead, my preschooler and my Kindergartner gave me grace when I didn’t deserve it and encouragement when I wasn’t expecting it.

Oh to be more like my children–in the porch praying, that is, not in the trashing of the kitchen table.

Tagged as: family, funny