Toddlers, Strawberries, And Why I Fail At Blogging

This is what I shared on the time-suck called Facebook Sunday:

Made it to Mass by the time the Gloria was over, with a bare-footed toddler who rode in the truck without shorts on. It’s great we even made it there. Shorts on before leaving the truck, shoes tucked into my purse (and not on his feet to avoid an epic tantrum, which surely would have ruined our efforts to get to Mass), baby handed off to Big Sister, and we miraculously found an open pew for our crowd. By the middle of Mass, Small Fry was upset and wanted to nurse, and Firecracker now wanted his shoes on. We went to the back, fixed both, and finished Mass inside.

Bought strawberries at the stand in the parking lot.

Came home, and Firecracker says, “It was fun going there.”

Me: “Where?”

Him: “To get strawberries, and church.”

Me: “…”

Toddlers are wild-cards in life. Or like a box of chocolates. To quote Forest Gump, “You never know what you’re gonna get.” When your toddler is a three-year-old, this is even more true, but all in that you might get some dynamite instead of a fabulous truffle. Three-year-olds are crazy, plain and (not-so) simple.

So in addition to the insanity that is my life with 6 children including a three-year-old, it is summer. Summer by the beach. Summer where fresh strawberries are sold in a sweet little stand in our church parking lot. Summer when our neighbors knock and invite us to swim in the pool, in 30 minutes.

Aaaaand, now that it is the end (finally) of Monday, I can resume and finish and publish this sucker. Because, LIFE.

Sunday evening, we were going to go for a walk, when two kids argued too much so I cancelled the walk and made them work together on cleaning the kitchen floor. (and of course finishing this post didn’t happen, because the Wild Card that is Firecracker didn’t go to sleep until 10pm because he took a late nap on the kitchen floor after helping himself to Cheeze-Its).

Yesterday was the sort of day that gives Monday a bad reputation. Let me tell you, this Monday sent me to my knees. After normal crazies from the kids, swim lessons, a trip to the commissary, chats with the kids about manners and respect (yada yada, we talk about these things every day. I’m determined to raise polite, thoughtful people), I hoped that maybe we’d enjoy a nice walk.

We were minutes from walking out the door together. And then it happened. The disaster that was a broken pipe in the yard, shooting water all over the place.

Let’s not even mention the disaster of books in the school/play room, which I created myself and never had a chance to finish sorting.

Anyway. This is why I fail at blogging lately. I’m too busy cleaning up, apologizing to my kids for yelling after a snafu (again), helping my kids learn to get along with each other, and begging God for mercy and grace because (forgive my colloquialism, but it fits here) I can’t even.

Ok, maybe I can. But I can’t even. Not without a whole lotta grace, some coffee, and hard root beer.