It's been a week. A rough, rough week. The kind of week that makes me question everything I'm doing as a parent. It's been hard. I've gotten madder than I've ever been. I've yelled, no screamed like I've never screamed. And I've cried, buckets and buckets of tears.
It's been hard.
It's been a week that I'm not proud of.
And to top it all off, my washing machine won't turn on. So I loaded up my dirty clothes and headed one town over to use my dad's. I called my grandma to see if I could use hers too (because let's face it, three regular sized washing machines are all gonna have to be working to accommodate our laundry).
You know what happened? Grace and a hug from above. None of which I deserve after how I've handled this not so great week.
Grandma told me to just leave my laundry in the hall because she wasn't home. She told me she'd love to do it and bring it back to me tomorrow to help me out.
My girls hugged me and reminded me how much they loved me even though I'd literally just lost my mind on them twenty minutes earlier.
Then because God knows how obtuse I can be, He thought he'd send me a few more signs. These sweet (most of the time) girls said "hey mom can you take our picture at Grandpa's house?" And when I looked at them, I remembered just how truly blessed I am by these beautiful girls.
As a last subtle hint to get myself together, I read something that asked if the devil really stole my joy or if I gave it to him. This week, I gave it to him. God reminded me to take it back. Because He is the giver of joy and only I can toss it away, it can't be stolen.
I sit here waiting for the washing machine to finish and I sit in awe at how good He is. How fortunate am I to live close enough to my Dad that I can use his washer. How blessed am I by a Grandma that offers to lighten my load. How honored I am to be the mother to these girls even when I don't come close to being perfect.
Tonight I'm refinding my joy because I been blessed beyond what I deserve.
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