I want to tag out today.  Switch places.  Take a breather.

It’s storming in Orlando and the boys woke up to jump in my bed, scared of lighting.  Daddy was gone early and the boys took over his side kicking and bickering.  I turned my back to protect my belly and seemed to get more kicks in my back then before I turned.  Frustrated.

It was apparent the day had started and we got out of bed, out of torture.  Attie dropped a bit yesterday and the pressure this morning was intense.  So was the weather induce headache.  And I had these 2 boys standing next to me with their long list of needs.

Ollie woke up a bit later.  When I picked him up, I almost puked.  The boy smells like strong patchouli.  He must have eaten a candle last night?  I need to find that candle and toss it.  I can’t shake the queasiness.  And this boy likes to cuddle in the morn.  I gagged and cuddled as the other 2 boys beat each other up.  And I promised discipline to the offenders.

And we’ve disciplined.  And words seem to fall on deaf ears.  Calls to repentance return void.  And in the dark hours of this morn I was defeated.

I made them strawberry and kefir smoothies for breakfast.  The kefir was quite tart and for the first time, I added honey.  And for the first time, the lid blew off the blender.  42 ounces of pink, sticky smoothie went everywhere.  Then our power went out.

I’ll be cleaning up sticky blobs for a long time.  The power came back up, but much of the smoothie had set in and wiping it up has taken arm power.

It’s noon and I just told the boys if they don’t stop tearing each other apart every 2 minutes that we will end this day right now.  Books in bed for the rest of the day.  And I’m dreading putting that plan into action.  What a stupid plan.

Tagging out?  It’s time for lunch.

And there is no food.  At least, nothing I can pull out of the fridge to feed them.  And the rest of the kitchen is covered in dishes and sticky smoothie mess.  I’m waiting on the dishwasher to finish to get the next load going.  But honestly, I just don’t want to go in there at all.

But it’s pouring rain outside and bikes cover our back seat.  To even get the boys to the car means first clearing the car out.  Taking them out to lunch is not an option.

Threshold met.  Tagging out.

Pounding head.  Tagging out.

Crazy, screaming boys.  Tagging out.

A kitchen looking like an impossible mountain of work and frustration.  Tagging out.

Needy boys.  Tagging out.

Needy mama.  I bet the boys want to tag out too.

It kills me that it’s pure minutia that’s sent me over the edge today.

Thom is on his way home with lunch in hand.  Then he’ll put the boys down and hopefully bring some fresh sanity to our motley crew.   I’m thankful for a fresh parent.  A parent who is sane.

And like my children, I am needy, yet the Lord doesn’t tag out on me.  I’m trying to pray for patience and perspective right now.  And I messing it all up.

All I can say, as Catcher calls me to come wipe his booty right now, is I never had it all together in the first place.  I think this is the first refreshment all day.

Off to wipe some poop off a butt and stumble my way through the rest of this day.

{Even as I’m about to publish this, Ollie is standing at the back door pointing at the swings and crying “swing low, swing loooow”.  And Tee is standing next to me asking to sit and talk about “all his questions”.  And Catcher is wiping up the splash pad he made in the living room and said his first “I’m sorry” for the day.  Deep breath, and compassion flows.}