This morning was a battle. Strike that. An all out war.
The girls, per usual, had been getting up and down from breakfast several times. Finally, there was so little left in their cereal bowls I wrongly assumed (how dare I) that they were done.
A few moments later, blood curdling screams filled the room when Norah realized I had taken her bowl. I was, in her eyes, intentionally trying to starve her.
Then there was the teeth brushing, which Norah refused because she insisted she be served another breakfast. Avery refused just because.
Then there was the hair brushing which always results in tears (though I brush through their hair with the gentleness of a geriatric sloth.)
Then there was getting dressed. According to Norah I do not do laundry often enough (I do laundry 3 times a week) because her birthday dress is not clean EVERY DAY for her to wear. Avery insisted on wearing a fleece jacket on the sunniest day we've had yet in Seattle. When I ever so delicately pointed out to her that (to all of our surprise) it was actually a warm day, an inexplicable tantrum ensued.
And it went on and on. I briefly dared to think, "what have I done to deserve such little ingrates?" But, then I remembered myself as I child and I knew.
I finally managed to get them out the door and to Vacation Bible School semi-dressed, semi-clean, and semi-fed. And for this morning, I was pretty darn proud of that effort. Even if we were 15 minutes late.
Truth be told, I'm selfishly glad they're going to spend a little time with Jesus this morning. I could use some myself. I'll be here with nothing but a latte and prayer that they'll be contrite (or at least cooperative) when they return.
Note: If you're judging me after reading this post you either a) don't have kids b) don't have kids old enough to know you're not God or c) are God.