Mogs and mistakes

It seems that posting even twice a week will be over my head at times. I will write when I can. “Just enough to stay sane,” a wise friend told me, and I will be taking her advice. It will help if both you and I forget about my little Mondays and Fridays idea. Pretend that didn’t happen.

Confession: I burned the first batch of caramel good and hard to the bottom of the saucepan, because I was washing supper dishes and singing I Stand Amazed in the Presence, and I forgot to stir even once.

With guests due to arrive within the hour for an apple dipping party, my knight-of-twelve-years-and-counting-who-has-gotten-me-out-of-worse-scrapes-than-this-one offered to make the emergency run for more caramels. {You know the Dr. Laura definition of true love? Swimming through shark-infested waters to bring her a glass of lemonade.}

I turned to drying the dishes, but the kiddos were wild and needy and hyper. Abruptly, I set my tea towel on the counter to rescue one who appeared in danger of sudden death from starvation or sibling attack or something perilous—and when I snatched up the towel again two minutes later, I forgot it was wrapped around my favorite of favorite mugs, the one my best friend gave me for my birthday, hand-crafted by her other best friend.

There was a rather dreadful smash.

And I am sorry to say that I yelled very loudly.

At the kids.

Which does not really make sense and brought me shame later, although in the moment it was entirely logical that I was sacrificing myself for THEM and NOW LOOK WHAT HAPPENED.

“I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene, and wonder how he could love me—a sinner condemned, unclean…”

Sometimes mothering five and growing another is plain hard work. Wherever I go there are small hands tugging me, small feet kicking me, someone pounding on the locked door. Sometimes there is nothing left for me. I can’t think, I can’t write, I can’t remember who I used to be. Am I allowed any selfishness at all?

(I am full of it still.)

In a very few minutes, our evening was redeemed by the arrival of smiling faces, happy hearts, beautiful women who came to share our space and dip their apples. We talked and laughed and put together a difficult puzzle. They enjoyed my children, a precious and astonishing gift to this mommy. We ate good caramel, with a few burnt flecks in it.

But before they came, my sweet daughter got out her pen and paper and wrote me a note. She is only five, but she knows about joy and sorrow.

Dear Mom, I love that mog too and it had bin miy fayvrit mog itil naw.

Love, Kelly