Last week was hard.
I'm not quite sure why.
It was probably a combination of a lot of things: teething babies, defiant almost-three-year-olds, small apartment, husband not quite grasping how difficult the first three things on this list really are.
But see, that could pretty much describe any week for me, really. I'm not quite sure why last week was so hard. I felt I had no patience or energy.
There I was, in the midst of reading about and really, honestly trying to find more charity in my life, and suddenly I found myself in the midst of one of the least charitable weeks of my life.
The grande finale to last week was most definitely Saturday night. I told BK to go ahead and go to ward temple night, since I hadn't found a babysitter, and I was planning on going this week anyway. Of course the second he starts getting dressed, the children act up. Of course they do.
Spencer started pitching the biggest fit I have ever seen a child that small pitch. All because he apparently, at that exact second, decided he hated baby food with more passion than ever before. Oh boy, I thought. I already have Landon who maybe eats three bites of dinner on a good night, not you, too, Spencer!
As he arched his back with every bites of rice and green beans, I arched mine on the inside. He screamed and screamed and screamed, and finally I just snapped.
I threw his bowl of baby food across the room.
In front of his two year old brother.
With whom I've been working ALL WEEK about not throwing things, specifically when frustrated or upset.
EPIC FAIL. Right?
I promptly went to my room and put myself in time-out.
BK somehow found acceptable food for Spencer.
I went to my bathroom and cried.
BK came back to see if I was okay, and I told him I was, I just needed some alone time, and I needed him to go ahead and finish up dinner and bedtime for me. Because I had had enough.
But then instantly I felt ridiculous.
Of COURSE this happens on the night BK was supposed to go to the temple.
I sat there and cried and prayed. I was so very frustrated.
I had been trying so hard all week to read my scriptures and try to apply them to my life.
And yet, there I was--an uncharitable mother and selfish wife, crying on my bathroom floor.
I prayed to know what I could do. I prayed to know that somehow all my hard work on myself and my toddler hadn't just flown out the window.
And wouldn't ya know, it hadn't. My answer came quickly.
Let your husband go to the temple. Put your boys to bed and clean your house. You'll feel better.
And so, I quit crying, got back up, feeling completely refreshed and full of energy.
I walked out and apologized to every member of my family and told BK to go to the temple.
I put my boys to bed.
And then I spent an hour cleaning my house.
And I felt better.
I've decided that even though I might read my scriptures and pray everyday, it won't make me perfect. True, I need to try harder to have even more charity, but sometimes I'm going to make mistakes. The difference is, it's a whole lot easier not to give up completely and to receive quicker answers to prayers when you've been doing the right thing consistently.
That's what I learned last week.
