... you know, the one from the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Today was rough, to say the least. All of us are sporting actual battle wounds. Emory has a large, and I mean B-I-G, lump on her noggin due to disobedience. Ethan wacked himself in the face with a toy on the excersaucer and has his first bruise, and I burned my ring finger while ironing. Even the comforter on Emory's bed joined in the fun. Yep! The hand-made by my Grandmother whom Emory is named after, quilt I've been saving for about 10 years for my very own little girl, now has a L-A-R-G-E pen stripe down the side. Good times.
Ethan slept rarely and was unhappy when awake unless it was the 30 minutes immediately after being fed. We did the feed the ducks and Emory got to practice riding her bike at the park. And while we were there I let her hold Ethan all by herself and slide with him, while I waited at the bottem. I can be cool sometimes.
But, my emotional volcano errupted at about 4:30 today and it was not cool. I berrated my daughter, and used a tone that I reserve for the worst of offenses. You know, the ones that involve me assuming she's out to get me. I made her cry and when she started crying I twisted the knife a little bit deeper. I took sick, sick pleasure in making her feel bad for making my day harder. And then my out of body experience ended and I was left to pick up the pieces. I repented to her, asked her forgiveness, and put her in front of a video in order to walk away and calm myself fully. I think we got restored. I was reminded of the gift of true forgiveness, which children seem to offer so readily towards the worst of offenses (you would never forgive me if I repeatedly treated you the way I treat her). At family worship Eric asked her what she wanted to thank God for.
That's right. That little tyke climbed up in my lap, stroked my cheek, and said, "My mommy and my family."