When Sunday looks like Monday I tend to oversleep…on the day that we also have a pot luck. Brownies in the oven, kids barely fed, I lay out clothes for Jack and Bria who are now blessedly dressing themselves most days. (Note the key word MOST in this sentence.) A quick shower, throw on some clothes and rush downstairs when I hear the oven screaming beeping at me. I look at the clock in sheer horror. I hate being late. I know what time church is. I know there is a potluck and brownies to be made. I’m filling water bottles when I turn around. There stands my son. He is not wearing the clothes I picked out. He has on the t-shirt and shorts but not the nice dress shirt or his slippers. Instead he has on old, too-little sneakers and brown dress socks. 

It was well past time to leave. I get him upstairs and will admit to not having a happy heart, okay I’m really angry. I get his slippers out and look frantically for his shirt. I ask where it is. “In the drawer,” Jack says. I look in his drawer…no shirt. “Show me.” This is where I should’ve started. It was wadded up in a toy drawer. I put the shirt on and told Jack he has to do what I say. I wasn’t very kind. Starting to look like a Monday.

I got in the car mad. The kids were singing in the back. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. You know the one…objects in mirror may be closer than they appear. I was struck by the fact that I really didn’t want my 7 chins to get any closer. My eyes look swollen and I haven’t been feeling great. Clearly it’s time for some changes. To add a little slap as I gazed stared at my reflection I caught Hanan’s reflection in the corner. Now not many people can claim to be as thin as Hanan but I could only see her face, the one that looks a little like mine did 29 years ago. Sigh. Insult to injury that one. Sunday feels like Monday. 

I go off to the little class I teach. I usually have two boys. I open my teacher guide to the Bible background for the day’s lesson and read, “when Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth around AD 53, their church had a lot of problems, including division and sexual sin.” Oh goody! This is just what I wanted to discuss with two tween boys, one who can’t even really be considered a tween yet. Sigh… I go on and realize the lesson titled, “Caretakers of God’s Temple” is actually written with a 12-year old girl in mind. It’s about loving your body and treating it the way God wants you to treat it. Is it proper for curse words to run through your mind when you think about talking to your kids in Bible class? Yeah. I’ve got stuff to work on. I really wanted to hear about eating right and exercising after my mirror moment. “Do as I say kids, not as I obviously do!” 

We made it through church. I successfully had Ray disqualified from the chili competition at the pot luck by making it myself. I don’t know why he can’t lie at church. I mean, really! Arleigh and Hanan decided they really did want to be at the youth event even though they had been telling me all weekend that they didn’t want to. That meant go home to change clothes and then go back again. Did I mention the H1 was knocked down to one lane on Sunday afternoon? No? Well there’s that… 

I took them back to church and hung out for a bit then back home I decided to cut Jack’s hair. We’ve been trying so hard to let it grow out. He has been terrified of scissors so I never take him to a barber. I laid out the guards in number order. Picked up the clippers. I don’t know what I was thinking but I took a strip off straight up the middle. It was bad. No guard at all. It wasn’t like I started at the back where I could sort of fudge it. 


I won’t lie. I cried a little. All I could think was the kid has such a hard time and I just made it worse. He looks like a monk.

IMG_5993Everyone just walks around rubbing his head like he’s a Buddha doll. Sigh.

So now that I have given myself the worst mother of the year of the award, what else is there to do but call my Mama? I’m Facetiming with her when I hear Ray yell he needs help. Bria is whimpering. She was waiting for me at the playground by the pool. She was run over by a scooter. Grandma was losing her mind imagining a moped careening down the streets of my neighborhood. He brought her upstairs because there was so much blood it looked like she might need stitches. 

Thankfully it was just a deep scratch. She is one tough cookie. I got her cleaned up and bandaged. She went on with her day.


So now it’s Monday. I’m just over here looking for a do over. Better yet, can it just be Tuesday already?