When Jonathan got his job at Chick-Fil-A, he was under the understanding that they wanted him for the closing shift. After thinking about it a lot, I grew fond of the idea of evenings all to myself and shared “awake hours” with the kids. A week and a half into the training period his boss handed out assignments. Jonathan’s assignment was managing the truck unloads and supervising breakfast shift. It came as a surprise, but after thinking about it, I grew fond of the idea of Jonathan being finished with work at 3 in the afternoon, and being able to have both awake hours with the children, and evening alone hours with my husband.
Then he was given his schedule for this week and he’s closing all week. So . . . I guess it’s a good thing I had grown fond of both shifts.
Tuesday afternoon he kissed the children and kissed me and walked out the door at just before three to the sound of the mackerdoodle saying “I luff oo. See oo yayer.” The second the car pulled out of the driveway, the mackerdoodle, that cutest of all toddlers, decided to make today the day she proved she was two.
Within two hours she pulled trash from the trash can and refused to return it, she pooped in her panties, peed on the floor twice, looked me in the face and said, “No mahmeeeeeeeee,” twice, . . . well, I’m not going to continue the list. Suffice it to say she was spanked more that evening than I think in the last year combined. Within this same time period, the cheesedoodle *really* needed a nap, and wouldn’t go to sleep. By the time bath time rolled around, I was exhausted, and I was wondering if this was really worth the free evenings.
As the mackerdoodle sat in the tub and I sat on the toilet, holding a smiling cheesedoodle, I began to think about what these two little bundles of personality and promise represent in my life. After the bath, the three of us cuddled up on the couch, and both children fell asleep while I read A. A. Milne’s poetry to them – just as I always prayed I would be able to do. I tucked the mackerdoodle into her bed, and laid the cheesedoodle into his and I marveled at the tiny lives the Lord has entrusted to my impatient, imperfect, sinful care. Then I went into the kitchen and baked bread and made dairy free fudge.
My life has changed more in the past two years than I ever imagined it would; but despite the blood, sweat and tears expended on Tuesday evening, I realized that a bad day of motherhood, is still better than a good day of infertility. Thank you Lord for puddles of urine, and strong wills and spankings. Thank you Lord for bath time and breastfeeding and poopy diapers.
Thank you Lord for a GOOD day.
*and if you’ve made it this far in my post, please visit andrea_jeanine’s blog, read her post and pray for her three little lives*