Last night was awful. Both boys were up pretty much all night, which means Marc and I were up all night and therefore extremely tired this morning. We pretty much wrote of church in the middle of the night. However, the boys were up at 7:30, so I was up at 7:30 and figured, we are up… let’s go (and let Marc sleep). So, with an already short fuse, I am trying to get both boys and myself ready for church in 30 minutes. All the while, Andrew is a wreck… just whining/crying up a storm. I am tired, frustrated, rushed and he is not cooperating in any way whatsoever. I know my tone and patience where sharper than usual and everything that could to go wrong his morning did.
Finally, I got the boys loaded up into the car and my seatbelt wouldn’t work. This was the last straw and I confess that an ugly word slipped out of my mouth. At that point, I stopped, took a deep breath and prayed in the front seat. I felt under attack all morning, and I really did want to make it church.
Much calmer, we started off. I tried to cheer up my still whiny/crying Andrew by talking about the railroad track we get to go over and the choo-choo we get to drive by and the bridges we get to go under all on the way to church. And how he will get to play with his friends while there. About 8 minutes from home, we are stopped at the stoplight… and I hear Andrew puke everywhere. Lovely. “Ok, I guess we are going home”. Of course, that is when my whiny child decided to speak clearly, “No, I want to go to church”, as he is covered in nastiness. When the light changes, I turned into a parking lot rather than going straight and check on Andrew. With no way to clean him up, I just drive home.
He is now cleaned up, sitting in just a diaper and blanket on the couch, watching Mickey Mouse. I have laundry going and just got AJ down for his nap after several tries. Ugh.
I need a nap.