Today was a horrible day at church. I don't even know how it all happened. The husband was even there.
Atrain was on a roll--spiraling down into utter chaos. It was like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. Sparks of irreverence grew into flames of flailing, hitting, crying, screaming, ignoring fits. And Jdog was personally offended every time I put him down.
And then my heel broke.
And then I didn't have the keys to the car.
And then once I retrieved them and drove all of the way home, I didn't have the key to my house.
And then I growled and gnashed my teeth in frustration.
And it made baby J cry. I don't like to talk about that.
We did go back to church. Thank heavens for good nursery teachers. And, who cares about having shoes on, anyway. I'm going to have to really gear up for next Sunday--come armed with all sorts of new positive reinforcement ammunition to help my boys behave, and hopefully feel closer to God. Isn't that what Sunday is supposed to be about, anyway? I never imagined feeling the Spirit at church would take so much work.
ONCE upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a queen. She lived a lovely life in her cottage sized castle with her husband and their three sons: Atrain the brave-heart; Jdog the jolly; and Doodle, the daring baby. The queen had a good heart, and she loved her boys with every piece of it. Every day in Frandsenland she works and plays and does her very best NOT to be evil. Sometimes she succeeds. This is her diary.
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