Sundays

Sundays just got harder.

I love the Sabbath day, and all that it represents. But it's not quite so restful when I spend so much time trying to teach my boys how to honor and appreciate the gift of a day of rest.

Josh left at 9:30 this morning for meetings, leaving the boys and I to our own devices. I had grand visions of a tidy house and a yummy dinner waiting for him when he got home. Then reality laughed and threw her shoe at my head.

Okay, maybe it was Dr. Seuss' ABC book, but it still made contact with my head. Multiple times. Rough morning, to say the least.

I got the kids dressed and to church on time, without forgetting anything at home. But Guy just wanted to run, and jump, and play, and yell his name to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling (he loves looking up and saying, "Hi, Lights!" to fluorescent lighting- or "Guy-yah-yah!"). After the sacrament, Guy threw a fit, so I dragged him onto my lap, where consequently Leo was also sitting, and started thinking about what to do next when two lovely young ladies came to my rescue. They sat down on either side of me, one taking Leo and the other looking to amuse Guy and fetch the things he "accidentally" dropped on the floor in front of us. Talk about a blessing from heaven.

These girls managed to turn my Sunday from I-want-to-pull-my-hair-out-or-curl-up-and-cry-in-a-corner to peaceful and mindful in a manner of a minute. I could actually listen to the testimonies. Thank goodness for angels.

I think I can handle this--especially if I can get a little extra help through sacrament meetings. Although dinner was still a bit hairy. Fast Sunday dinner always is when one doesn't manage to get home before 5:45 p.m.

But the blueberry pancakes were a hit, the boys are in bed, and with any luck won't wake up before 7 a.m. I could really use a morning where I'm allowed to stay in bed past 6:15. Please.