A True Story: A Mother and her Five Long Suffering Children.

This is dated, it was written around Christmas. It’s not a poem. More like a glimps into my life.

The other night I decide to be a good mom and take my sweet sweet children to a Christmas fun night in town. The following depicts actual events:
7:00: this was the time K was supposed to arrive at her youth events pack shoe boxes, we were late things were tense
7:15: Finally on our way to drop off K. Half way up the hill to town I realized we had forgotten the shoe boxes. We turn around.
7:18: Due to admittedly obvious icy conditions and steep decline of the road I chosen to turn around on we found ourselves rather unable to get back on the highway. I decide to go further into the abyss hoping to find a place where my ill equipped tires can gain some traction.
7:25: now realizing the possible error of my previous decision. Moral is low, there is crying, a despondent A laments that we will never make it home (the home that is about a km away from where we are). S remains stoic, while T expresses repeatedly that he is ‘feeling frustrated’. K (12) offers to drive, either due to an over confidence in her natural driving ability, or a complete lack of confidence in my capabilities.
7:26: I realize I have no reception on my phone. I silently pray. We go further…
7:35: the van finds traction. Finally headed back home. At this point I consider throwing in the towel on our plans for the night, but sound judgement was obviously not my friend that night.
7:55: we drop K off ridiculously late at her youth event. We will pick her up later. My self and the remaining 4 kiddos head to the Christmas carnival.
8:05: Arrive at the Christmas carnival Sy our youngest, wants her face painted, she wants a Christmas tree on her face so bad she can taste it!
8:15: waiting in line
8:30: finally it is Sy’s turn to be face painted. Unfortunately it is at this point that Sy remembers she hates people, strangers especially. She screams at the face painter a 11 year old girl, (who probably never have children now) as if she is try to poison her. She does not get her face painted.
9:15: after wandering around and trying things we finally figure out that Santa is in a back room, Sy is excited. She has been wanting to see the jolly old elf for awhile. All we have to do is get her boots on, they had come off due to a need to dance don’t. She is three, it happens sometimes.
9:20: Boots on headed to see Santa
9:21: we walk into the room to see the back of Santa as he is undressing. Santa is heading back to his workshop in the North Pole. We’ve missed him.Sy is upset, and she shares her disappointment with everyone within a ten mile radius.
9:30: I get the kids and a very disappointed Sy (who,lets face it, would have probably just screamed at Santa) into the van. I look at the clock, the clock in the van. The clock that since the last time change has been stuck as a 24 hour clock. I lack the technical skills, and motivation to fix it. To read a 24 hr clock requires only the most rudimentary ability to do simple math. The clock reads 21:30 I need to pick K up around 9-9:30. I turn to the kids and say ‘wow that was quick it’s only 8:30, we have an almost an hour to waste until it’s time to pick up your sister. We’ll go to Walmart’
9:35: arrive at Walmart..
9:45: I receive a frantic call from K. The conversation goes as follows

K: Mom! Where are you?!?
Me: Oh are you done early?
K: What no, come get me…

9:46: The penny drops. 21:30 is 9:30 not 8:30!
9:47: frantically grab kids and book it to pick up K.
9:48: quietly sob a bit. And question my entire life and my ability to think, wonder how my kids have even survived..,
9:50: pick up K.
10:30: Home, kids in bed. I’m praying and saying Thank you God for this day, and wondering what I can specifically thank him for. Then I remember, as we sat in the dark, on the icy hill. My dear precious children, who have survived despite their incompetent mother, all told me after, that they had thought to pray  when we were stuck, just as I had.

10:31: crying cause I am so richly blessed.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s