Author - Kishona

How My Children Remind Me to Pray with Gratitude

January 19, 2016

This post was originally part of a blog hop for the launch of Kristen Welch’s book, Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World. You can still find the links to the rest of the blog hop at the end of the post. This post also contains affiliate links, which means at no additional cost to you, I may receive a small commission when you use the links.

“Thank You for me. Thank You for Vinny. Thank You for ice cream and watching a movie. And thank You that horsies be nice to us.”

That was not-quite-3-year-old Josiah’s bedtime prayer one January night. When they were young (and even now), it was fun, and somewhat amusing, to hear what our boys wanted to thank God for every night. Josiah usually added in a surprise or two, such as the “horsies be nice to us.” (We hadn’t been anywhere near horses since the fall, so I’m not sure why that was on his mind.) Elijah, our oldest, could be equally random, or seemingly so.

However, as entertaining as my children’s prayers can be, they are always precious, often inspiring, and sometimes convicting.

From the time our boys were able to repeat simple words, Brad and I have encouraged them to say their own prayers at night, rather than recite a memorized prayer. We have kept it fairly easy for them because praying should be, after all, fairly easy. Sometimes we adults like to overthink and complicate things that God hasn’t.

Prayer is talking to Him, sharing your heart and seeking His, and “with thanksgiving, let(ting) your requests be made known to God.” (Philippians 4:6)

Since we didn’t want Elijah and Josiah to get the idea that so many seem to have of God as a heavenly Santa Claus, who is just at our beck and call, doing whatever we want, we’ve always stressed the “with thanksgiving” part of their praying.

In teaching them to pray, if they needed help, I would prompt them with something such as, “Tell God what you’re thankful for or what you liked about today, and then ask Him to help with something you need help with.”

As a mom, it blesses my heart when I hear them pray because nine times out of ten, they pray longer about the things they are thankful for than things that they need or want. And the things that they are thankful for show me that, even though they’ve learned how to pray by listening to us and following our examples and leading, sometimes they have a more grateful heart than I do.

They thank God not only for their family members (including our dog, Vinny), but they thank him for specific toys, special moments in their days, and random things about the world that they’ve noticed or experienced. Oh, and Batman. (Seriously, one of Josiah’s other prayers had the line, “Thank You for Jesus and Batman.”)

It blessed me even more when their thankfulness began to transfer from the “praise” part of their prayers to their requests. After Elijah and I had a conversation one day when he was about 5 about the difference between wants and needs, and I showed him a video of a lady in Africa walking miles just to get water, he began to pray not only for what he thought he needed or wanted, but also praying for what others needed, praying for people all over the world.

Because he was thankful for what he had, he wasn’t filling his prayers with “give me,” but with “give them.” (He also began using this daily prayer journal printable for his prayer time.)

Listening to my son ask God to give people clean water or similar things for others makes me proud of him and challenges me.

Listening to Josiah thanking God for everything he could possible think of – Grandma, Grandpa, candy, Star Wars, “for no spiders” (AMEN!) – shows me his heart and causes me to look deeper into my own.

Am I taking time in my prayers to stop and thank God, really thank Him, for all the wonderful things He’s given me and done for me? Honestly, if I tried to thank Him for it all, I would easily be “praying without ceasing.”

Furthermore, am I praying not just for me, my family, my friends, and our needs but for a world that needs God, too?

As Kristen says in Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World, “We teach gratitude by living it. We are the example.”

Sometimes, our kids surprise and humble us, though, by teaching us and being the example we need.

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I am so honored to be a co-host of this Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World BLOG HOP with this wonderful community of bloggers. They are each sharing their own thoughts on what gratefulness looks like in their lives and their families, as well as encouragement, tips, and activities to help you cultivate gratefulness in your homes. Make sure you check out each one!

Inspiring an Attitude of Gratitude – by Alison
Rasisng Grateful Kids – by amanda
Why You Can’t Buy Gratitude At The Dollar Store – by Andrea
Missing – Gratefulness in our home – by Ange
Choosing Gratitude – by Angela
Gratefullness – by chaley
5 Steps to Gratitude-Fille Family – by Christa
Practicing Grateful Parenting – by Dana
Sing a Song – by Hannah
Cultivating gratitude in our family – by Jamie
Gratefulness In Our Home – by Jana
Gratefulness In Our Home – by Jana
Let It Begin With Me – by Jen
Choosing Gratefulness – by Jennifer
Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World – The Book – by jeri
Eradicating Entitlement – What are you rooted in? – by Jessica
Gratefulness in our home – by Kate
The Problem With Entitlement is that it begins with us – by Katelyn
7 Unusual Ways I Know How to Be Grateful – by Kathryn
Raising Grateful Kids – by Keri
How My Children Remind Me to Pray with Gratitude – by Kishona
Grateful – by Kristy
Entitlement: The Ugly Truth of a Beautiful Lie – by Leigha
The Most Important Thing You Can Do To Raise Grateful Kids – by Lindsey
Dear Son: How Do I Teach You To Be Grateful Without Guilt? – by Marie Osborne
Gratitude, A Practical Definition – by Mia
Cultivating Gratitude in Our Home – by Nancy
Learning Gratitude through Chronic Illness – by Rachel
Being Grateful – by Rebecca
I’ve Found Something I Can’t Live Without – by Sarah
The Power of Naming our Gifts – by Sarah
Outfitted – by Sarah Jo
Growing Gratitude in our Family – by Sondra
Teaching Gratefulness – by Stephanie
How Grateful Looks From Here – by Alison
Fighting Entitlement in Children and All of us – by Leah
Entitlement Problem – by Karrie
Grateful Today – by Krystal

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For more ideas and tips on cultivating gratitude in your home, you can follow my Raising Grateful Kids board on Pinterest.

Going on a Date with My 5-year-old

January 18, 2016

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Life in Lape Haven: Going on a Date with My 5-year-old. I didn't realize how important some Mommy and me time was to my son until I scheduled a date night for us to spend some time together, one-on-one. His excitement proved that it was something very special to him.

When Elijah brought home the flyer for a “Me and My Gal” night at his school, I admit – at first I dismissed it as something I didn’t particularly want to do. I doubted that he even paid any attention to the note about a glow-in-the-dark themed dance/game night for the boys at his school to bring their “favorite girl” (mom, grandma, aunt) to, and that was fine with me.

However, I didn’t throw the note away.

The next day while I was cleaning the kitchen, I looked at the note again, and I felt as though God wanted me to ask Elijah about. In my heart, I immediately knew that this would be important to him and important to my relationship with him.

That day he came home and mentioned the “glow party,” saying that he wanted to go.

The more I talked to him about it, though, I realized the main reason he wanted to go: he wanted to be with me.

Then as I thought about that, I decided that we had another option in addition to “go to the party” or “don’t go.”

So, I gave Elijah a choice: we could go to the school event (where it would be somewhat awkward for us because we didn’t know anyone else going, where it would be a later night than he was used to, and where we wouldn’t be as free to just be us with all the dancing and games planned), or we could go on a “Mommy-Elijah date” where he got to plan what we did and where we went.

Elijah proved my theory of “just wanting to be with Mommy” correct. Without hesitation or second thoughts, he chose to do a date night, just us.

He also immediately suggested that we should go to the Japanese steakhouse for our date.

If only.

After explaining that not even Daddy usually got to take me there on a date, we discussed a more appropriate budget, and he made his second suggestion: going to get frozen yogurt. (We would have let him pick something a little more expensive, but that was what he wanted).

Then he proved that even though he’s only 5-years-old, he knows the way to a girl’s heart.

He said, “Then we can go to Hobby Lobby, if you want, Mommy. “

IF I want to go to Hobby Lobby? Hahaha.

Frozen yogurt and Hobby Lobby? Sounded like a great idea to me.

For the next couple of weeks, his world only existed on time that was measured by when our date night was. He counted down the days, he told everyone about “getting to take Mommy on a date,” he wrote about it in his journal at school, and he reminded me every day that we had a special night coming up.

At one point, I thought I might have another thing on the night we had picked, and he was nearly in tears until I realized it was a week later.

I honestly never thought he would latch onto this idea as firmly as he did or that time with Mommy was something he was missing so much.

I probably should have. I mean, I’ve often thought about how we definitely want to do that as the boys get older. But I should have known he needed that to start now.

He’s still adjusting to being in school all day after having spent pretty much all day, every day with me since he was born. His time when he gets home is spent playing with his brother, eating dinner, reading his homework book, and getting ready for bed. There hasn’t been much Elijah-Mommy time, and definitely not as much as he was used to before school.

The day of our date I don’t know how his teacher got him to focus on his work at all. He was bouncing from the moment he got out of bed in the morning until, and especially when, I picked him up in the afternoon. He told his teacher where we were going, probably for the fiftieth time that week, bless her heart.

And then we were off…well, after we dropped Josiah off at his “date with Grandma.”

En route to the frozen yogurt place, Elijah told me that “tonight is going to be amazing.”

He was so desperate for time with me that yogurt, Hobby Lobby, and a stop into Target for something we needed at the house was “amazing” to him.

Clearly, we need to spend more one-on-one time together.

However, it was a delightful evening. We tasted different flavors of yogurt, then filled our cups with our favorites and topped them with a few items from the multitude of offerings, including berries, waffle cone pieces, and whipped cream. Elijah added a gummy frog to his because his teacher said that’s what she liked from that yogurt place. (You know, during one of the many conversations he had with her about his date with Mommy.)

While we ate, he talked about his day, much like he would any other day. There were no deep discussions, no major life advice shared with him. Just us being together. And it was wonderful.

He brought money with him for Hobby Lobby…$1.25…so he could buy something…for himself (Some date.) He was thrilled when we found a stamp with the letter “E” in the clearance items for only $0.75. We were able to get him a child-friendly ink pad for only about $1 or so (using their weekly 40% off coupon) – Mommy’s treat.

After we’d wandered through the wonderland of Hobby Lobby long enough, we headed to Target. When we were checking out, he whispered to me that he was going to ask the cashier for two stickers, one for him and one for me, “since we are on a date.”

I’m not sure if the cashier heard him or not, but seconds later, she actually offered him a sticker before he could ask.

“Can I have two? I’m on a date with my Mommy, “ he told her.

Of course, the lady smiled and happily gave us two special stickers. Elijah just beamed.

I’m not sure if the night lived up to Elijah’s “amazing” expectations, but I know he was a very happy boy.

Something that to me was so simple and that started with something that I almost completely ignored meant the world to him.

So much so that the next morning, he was still glowing and measuring time by our date.

He climbed into bed, gave me a hug, and said, “It’s the day after our date, Mommy.”

I asked him then and there if he’d go out with me again.

Do you have special date nights or times with each of your children?

Earlier this year I shared my thoughts on Elijah’s first day of school in the post, Embracing the Moments of “Mommy Sadness.”

The Unique Game My Family Has Played for 5 Generations

January 14, 2016

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Life in Lape Haven: The Unique Game My Family Has Played for 5 Generations. Carrom is a board game over 100 years old, and it's one we've been playing it in my family for nearly as long.

Around here, winter is our favorite time for board games, card games, and puzzles. While the boys are always up for Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, or Go Fish, they get really excited when we ask them if they want to play Carrom.

(This post contains affiliate links, which means at no additional cost to you, I may receive a small commission if you use the links.)

In case you’ve never heard of Carrom, it is a tabletop game that is similar to pool. You play on a square Carrom board that has a pocket on each corner, and instead of using a cue stick to hit billiard balls, you use your fingers to flick a “striker” ring into other rings, attempting to send your rings in to one of four corner pockets. You can play one-on-one or as two teams of two.

For me, this game always means family, laughter, and occasionally, a sore finger. (Flicking wooden or plastic rings can really sting sometimes.)

I was introduced to Carrom when I was little, and for the most part, it’s a game that I’ve always played at my maternal grandparents’ house. My great-grandparents, John and Leora, taught it to my grandpa, who shared it with my grandmother, and later they played the game with their children. My grandparents have taught all of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren as we got old enough to learn. It’s a family tradition.

Whenever we visit them during the winter months, their board is usually already set out on a card table with four chairs around it, rings on the board, ready to go.

Having played pretty much all his life, Grandpa is really, really good at Carrom, and Grandma’s not too bad herself. Sometimes I like to play just so I can watch them work their magic. Being truly great grandparents, they don’t show much mercy during a game, especially now that we’re older, although they take it a little easier on the great-grandchildren. 🙂

Of course, as we play, we have plenty of time to talk and share, which is really what makes the time special.

My mom and I have both found Carrom boards for just a few dollars at the thrift store and then ordered the rings online so we each have our own to practice on and teach my boys and their cousins. You can order entire game board sets online, too – Carrom Board Game

This year Josiah was old enough to begin learning how to play, and so on New Year’s Day we set up the board, and Elijah, Josiah, and their cousin Christian all had fun flicking the rings around the board. It was hilarious watching Josiah try to shoot because he had to make this “Popeye” face every time he shot. Meanwhile, Elijah has gotten better and better each year, and it’s impressive to watch him plan out his turn and actually be able to do it the way that he saw it.

I think we played at least three times while Christian was here and another three or four once Brad got home.

The boys can’t wait to visit their great-grandparents soon so they can play with them. They are at least the fifth generation in my family to enjoy this game, and I’m so glad that we get to carry on this fun family tradition.

To learn more about Carrom, you can check out Wikipedia, Carrom.org, and Masters Games.

You may also like these other memories I’ve shared about my grandparents and my Great-Grandma Leora:

The Legacy in an Apple Pie Recipe

Great-Grandma’s Rainbow

Making Grandma’s Lime Pickles

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How to get Dry Erase Marker out of Clothing

January 12, 2016

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Life in Lape Haven: Tried It Tuesday - How to get Dry Erase Marker out of Clothing. When my son kept coming home with dry erase marker on his jeans, I had to find a way to save his pants from being ruined and permanently stained by the marker. I finally found a solution.

With two young boys, our laundry is never without a few articles of clothing with mysterious stains. Then Elijah started school, and suddenly one stain became a regular – DRY ERASE MARKER! Since he has lost a couple pairs of pants to this epidemic (and we’re already buying him new pants constantly because he won’t stop growing), I’m on a mission to figure out the best way to remove dry erase marker from clothing.

When Elijah first came home with a black ink stripe on his pants, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. He’s in kindergarten, he’s very creative and artistic, and he’s kind of careless at times with how he holds his writing utensils. But the black mark didn’t come all the way out when I washed his jeans.

So it wasn’t a washable marker he’d had.

The next time the “tiger stripes” showed up on his jeans, I asked him, “How do you keep getting marker on your pants?”

He said they were from the dry erase marker when he was writing on the whiteboard.

I mentioned the marked-up pants to his teacher, and at first she just thought I was expecting him to be perfectly neat and mature with how he handles the markers.

Hahaha.

No. I live with this child. I’ve cleaned marker off his hands, his arms, his face, and the soles of his feet. While I have begged him to be more careful when he’s handling those markers, I know I’ll still be facing random marks in the future.

When she realized I meant that the stains weren’t coming out, she seemed surprised.

“Doesn’t it just wash out?”

Nope. At least not every time.

After having hit or miss luck with the marker just washing out when I pre-treated them (and having hit or miss luck with actually seeing the marks before the jeans went into the dryer- ugh), I realized that I needed to find a real solution to this issue.

So, I did some investigating. Yep, Pinterest.

I searched “removing dry erase marker from clothing” and found a few articles, but most of them said the same thing – hairspray or rubbing alcohol. So, treating the marker like an ink stain. (I also saw a few that mention Murphy’s Oil Soap, but since I didn’t have any of that, I thought I’d test out the first options.)

I was ready to try my best to conquer this nuisance. I had two pairs of Elijah’s jeans with marker on them that I’d set aside the other day. One had already been treated, washed, and dried but still looked just like it had when Elijah came home in them. The other pair hadn’t been washed, but they had been sitting for a couple of days. Most advice I’d read said that dealing with the stain as soon as you could was the best guarantee for success.

Therefore, when I picked up Elijah today and saw that he had stained another pair of jeans with dry erase marker, it was the first time I was even slightly happy to see those marks. Now I had a dried-in-stain pair, a set-stain pair, and fresh-stain pair. If I could get the stains out of all three, we’d be doing really well.

: The dryer-set-in stained pair

: The been-sitting-for-a-couple-days pair (small mark)

: The just-happened-today pair

While Elijah was at school, I had followed these directions that I’d found online to use hairspray and rubbing alcohol on the first two pairs of pants. For a little bit of extra oomph, I also scrubbed in some hand sanitizer, which works great to clean dry erase boards and as more of a concentrated alcohol gel was easier to work with than liquid rubbing alcohol. Before I put those jeans in the washer, I added some stain-treater (Spray ‘N’ Wash), and then washed the pants with detergent in cold water.

The set-stain pair actually came out clean! Yea!!! Of course, the stains were fewer to begin with, but yea!!! One down easily.

The dried-in stain pair was still stained. So, I went through the whole process again. It only helped a little.

By the time I had Elijah’s freshly-stained jeans, I applied the hair spray, rubbing alcohol, hand sanitizer, and Spray ‘N’ Wash stain treater to those jeans and the dried-in stain ones (“third time today” is a charm). They both went through the wash.

The newest stains came out almost completely, and the dried-in ones were a little less noticeable, but I wasn’t satisfied.

One more time through the scrubbing and washing, and today’s stained pants were clean! And the dried-in stains were actually showing less. One more time through should do it, I think. (So…5 times through the process when you set the stain in really well with the dryer. I’ll try not to let that happen again.)

: All three pair, mostly clean.

: The dryer-set-in pair needs one more time through probably.

: Today’s stained pair – clean!

So, while it isn’t a perfectly simple solution for getting rid of those pesky dry erase marks on my child’s jeans, at least I know it will work, eventually, and there is hope for Elijah’s pants.

Next up, trying to get silly putty out of the fabric of MY pants pocket. Life with kids, huh?

Have you ever had a stain that you just couldn’t get out? Did you ever find a solution, besides getting rid of the clothes?

My boys have added to my laundry stain know-how:

How to Get Grease Stains (even set-in ones) Out of Clothing

How to Get Grass Stains Out of Clothes

Having a Second Child: the amazing multiplication of love

January 11, 2016

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Life in Lape Haven: Having a Second Child - the amazing multiplication of love. When we found out I was pregnant with our second baby, it was just as wonderful and exciting as the first time. But it was different. Were we ready to face life with a newborn again? Could we love this little one the same as our first child?

I stepped over several books, a Hot Wheels car, and a toy horse to get him there, but I gently laid my snuggly little sleeping boy into his bed and settled the blanket over him. He didn’t even notice, although he did roll over and cuddle down into his pillow a bit more in his sleep.

Josiah will be three in March, but he still seems so little. Funny, because when I was pregnant with this little guy, his older brother was about this age, although at times Elijah seemed older.

As our second child, Josiah has been our lesson in realizing the multiplication of love.

When you get married, your love is directed very pointedly at one person. Yes, you still love family and friends, and most certainly and firstly God, but the love that you share with your spouse will build your life and family in a new way. You learn to sacrifice and give of yourself daily to minister to one person.

Then the love between you and your spouse begets a new one: your first child. Suddenly you are hit with so much overwhelming love you don’t know how you can stand it. All of those sappy Hallmark and Johnson’s Baby Wash commercials hit home in a way that is so much more personal and heart-wrenching. (Seriously – tearing up over diaper advertisements is kind of annoying). Your world is so full with giving and giving and giving to this demanding, needy, beautiful, precious child. They bring you joy and sleepless nights, and you love every minute of it (okay, let’s be honest – not every minute. Sometimes it’s WAY HARD, and you are beyond exhausted and frustrated, but you know deep down that they are so, so worth it).

Elijah and me on his first night home.

When you discover that Baby #2 is growing in your belly, it’s not exactly the same as when you found out you were pregnant with your first child. It’s just as wonderful, just as exciting, and just as precious. But now you know what’s ahead…and you don’t.

With Elijah, we were blissfully clueless, like every new parent ever in the history of the world. We knew about other people’s children. We had an “idea” (hahahaha) of what to expect. We were as prepared as we could be, and yet we were woefully unprepared.

Then we learned. We experienced firsthand the struggles, the revealing of still-hidden selfishness in our hearts (babies will root it out!), the discovering of unexpected reserves of strength and tenacity that even I, a very stubborn person, didn’t know I had. We endured the exhaustion, the helplessness, the euphoric happiness, the awe-filled moments, the diapers, and the crying-for-no-reason (Elijah’s and ours). We felt the all-encompassing love that grabs your heart and turns your eyes toward Heaven, giving you a glimpse of how completely God loves us, changing your relationship with Him and your perspective of Him forever.

Brad holding newborn Elijah.

That is how it was with the first child.

The second gives you pause, even if the very briefest of milliseconds of a pause.

You now have experiences, both good and bad. You know as you didn’t before what you are getting into. Those first six weeks with a newborn can be a battle, even with the best of babies, and the nine months leading up to it will be unlike the first pregnancy. Now you are not just pregnant, but you are pregnant while caring for and chasing after a child, one that you have to help prepare for a sibling’s arrival.

You love your first child so much. Will you feel the same toward another one? This next child will be different in many ways. Will you bond as well with him?

In all honesty, Brad struggled more with this question than I did at points, but even I, the mother, who could feel his wiggles and kicks and rib-breaking shoves (he was my parkour baby and still is), didn’t feel as connected to Josiah during my pregnancy as I did with Elijah. Perhaps it was because I was busier, more distracted this time around, since Elijah, at two, required a good deal of my attention and supervision. I didn’t have as many of those quiet, calm moments to just bask in the wonder of my baby’s little life, contemplating who he might become or what he would look like. I loved him, I anticipated his arrival, but I didn’t feel as though I “knew” him as well before he was born as I seemed to know Elijah.

Little Elijah napping

Facing down labor and delivery a second time, knowing what it really entailed instead of the vagueness of the “you’ll forget it all once your baby is here” fib, didn’t make it easier. I delivered both my boys naturally and without pain medicine, so choosing that intense experience again was still a little intimidating.

However, being more educated and confident in my position as a mom, I was ready to face what I had to because I also knew the sweetness and joy of a little one’s snuggles, coos, and giggles; the heart-melting tenderness that engulfs you when their tiny hand clutches yours; the completeness and contentment that surrounds you as they sleep peacefully in your arms; the joy and pride in watching them become their own little person, full of talents, personality, and uniqueness.

Josiah entered our world, and Brad and I still weren’t sure of what we’d name him. We thought we knew, but with Elijah we had pretty much known for certain. When the nursed laid Josiah, tiny and wiggly, on my chest, I pulled him up close, before they could clean him off or weigh him. I just held him, memorizing his puffy little features and surprised by his head full of dark hair. Then he cuddled into me, much as he still does now when I hold him, and I knew he was our “Josiah.”

Newborn Josiah at the hospital.

From that instant on, there was no doubt in my mind that I loved him as deeply and unconditionally as I loved Elijah. There was a space, a huge space, in my heart that was all for him, and he took it over completely.

Loving Josiah did affect my love for my hubby and Elijah, but it didn’t diminish it. In fact, the love in our family multiplied. Not only did we all adore Josiah, but my love for my other two guys grew as well. Watching Elijah become a wonderful big brother and seeing Brad’s pride in his two boys made my heart full to bursting.

: Elijah was so proud to be a big brother.

: Sweet little Josiah (photo courtesy Picture Bliss Photography)

: Our first family picture with Josiah. (photo courtesy Picture Bliss Photography)

We navigated the adjustment from a one-child home to a two-child home with a few bumps and scuffles, but we managed it, even on less sleep than before (because Elijah decided to stop sleeping all night, too, for a while).

While we hoped and prayed that Josiah might be calmer and more laid-back than his brother, we soon learned that he was our little daredevil, full of curiosity, fearlessness, and mischief – the perfect sidekick for Elijah.

As we bonded as a family, I once again felt that all-encompassing love that grabs your heart and turns your eyes toward Heaven, only this time, I saw a glimpse of not only how God loves me, but how He can love me AND every other person in the world, individually and completely, all at the same time.

Having one child had shown me God’s heart toward me. Having a second showed me His heart for everyone.

1 John 3:1 – “Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God! Therefore the world does not know us, because it did not know Him.”

Feature image courtesy Picture Bliss Photography.

How I Sabotaged Myself & Made a Bad Evening WORSE

January 7, 2016

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It was Elijah’s first day back to kindergarten after his winter break. It meant we all had to get back into our normal routines, readjusting from our more laid-back holiday schedule.

While we did try to get the boys to bed on time at least the few days leading up to Tuesday, I myself hadn’t gotten much sleep the last couple of nights. Part of it was because of a cold I’m getting over and part of it was staying up to read before going to sleep to help my busy, multi-tasking, always-thinking mind to settle down. As a result, I was operating with a sleep-deficit.

However, the early morning went well enough, despite the 16-degree temperature we faced in taking Elijah to school. Actually, most of the day went fairly well. Josiah helped me gather and start the laundry and then stayed busy with his newly-made play-dough while I worked on the dishes. He even went down for his afternoon nap easily enough, and by the time we picked up Elijah, I was pleased with how well our day was progressing. Sure, I hadn’t gotten to finish cleaning a few of the pans in the kitchen, and I still had a load of unfolded clothes sitting in the dryer, but I was going to work on those while dinner cooked.

I had no idea what was coming, but my lack of rest was not going to help.

In about an hour or two, through a series of accidents and everyday events, my happy Tuesday would turn into the “I just want to hide and cry” chaos that my hubby came home to.

All I clearly remember is that I started working on preparing dinner (Ree Drummond’s awesome broccoli cheese soup) while the boys played nicely together in the living room. I was on my second day of a real “meal plan,” something that I’m trying to implement to help me be (and feel) more organized, so everything was going according to plan. I just needed to chop an onion, some broccoli, and some ham to get going.

I had the onions in to saute when I heard Elijah half laugh, half scream, “Josiah’s in the bathroom.”

At some point during my chopping, Josiah, who is almost 3-years-old and 90% potty-trained, pooped in his underwear and was in the bathroom trying to take his pants off just as I got to him. I put him on the potty (of course he said he didn’t need to go anymore), dealt with the mess, scolded Elijah for having laughed about it the whole time we were in the bathroom, left them playing with their blocks, and went back to dinner prep.

I was in the middle of adding milk and cream to the broccoli and onions when I heard water running in the bathroom. Since that’s never a good sign, I hurriedly put the measuring cup down, which then spilled all over the counter and the top of our gas stove. Grabbing a few paper towels, I tossed it over the mess on the counter, and then sprinted to the bathroom to find Josiah with no pants on, standing on the step stool at the sink, rinsing his underwear under the running water.

He’d pooped again! Only this time he took care of it, sort of, himself, which honestly didn’t help.

Seriously, kid? Twice in less than a half-hour? Didn’t I just put you on the potty??? And you said, “I don’t need to go potty!”

So, once Josiah was cleaned and clothed for the second time, the boys were relocated to the kitchen table so I could see them easier. I finished mopping up the spilled milk (our dog, Vinny, helped with the floor clean up), and I measured out more milk and cream.

At this point, I was pretty frustrated, but the boys didn’t seem to notice because they started that wonderful pre-dinner complaining for food and drink while they are standing 10 feet away from the pot of soup that is cooking. (Because clearly I’m not planning to feed them EVER, right?)

I stirred the soup a bit, then got them both a small drink of juice, and returned to season the soup.

Then Elijah started rifling through my huge utensil drawer, digging out the potato masher and cookie cutters, looking for stuff to use with their play-dough. It might not have been a big deal, but 1) he didn’t ask, 2) he didn’t put the other stuff back, and 3) he actually had his own tools for play-dough AT THAT TABLE already.

So, I had to leave the soup. I asked him to put the things back (probably using short, clipped phrases because I was not a happy mommy), and helped him rearrange the contents of the drawer quickly so it could be shut again.

My patience was running horribly thin.

And then I smelled the broccoli soup…scorching.

And although the boys started fighting about something while I searched for a new pan to transfer our dinner to before it was completely ruined, I ignored them because addressing them in that moment of intense frustration wouldn’t have been wise. My mind was a muddled mess, and I was shifting to running mostly on emotions, which is never good.

Then Elijah complained about the smell. I’m pretty sure I glared at him, while assuring him that the soup was fine, and he was going to eat it no matter what.

With dinner salvaged and another pan to clean later (which just added to my stress because no, I never even had a chance to touch the other pans), I finished cooking and asked the boys to start cleaning up so we could eat.

But they didn’t start to clean up. They kept playing, and I yelled at them, somewhat ferociously.

Because I was irritated with them for not obeying and for causing me more work instead of just letting me make our dinner. I was frustrated with Josiah for not telling me when he needed to go to the potty. I was annoyed with Elijah for getting in to things and for complaining about being hungry while I was obviously having a difficult time cooking. I was beyond my temper over all the difficulties I had had with a simple dinner. And I was tired.

The boys finally started picking up, and I went about cleaning up the counter, including filling my flour canister with the bag of flour I’d had to open during my early soup prep. When the canister was half-full, I readjusted my hold on the bag… and it exploded. (Actually, the bag just tore, but the effect was the same.)

I looked down at the broken flour bag, the flour-covered counter and floor, and then glanced at my flour-covered self in disbelief.

Really, God? What was going on tonight?

Behind me, Elijah started complaining…again.

The woman who turned around on that boy was not the “Mommy” he expected and definitely not the one whose attention he wanted to get.

Seeing that they still hadn’t finished putting away their stuff, I immediately took away their dessert for the night and told them that as soon as they were done with dinner, they were going to bed.

They had to go to bed because I needed to go to bed. I was exhausted in every way.

By the grace of God, I didn’t completely snap. I sent them away from me to the living room so I could calm down. And I got the vacuum so I could clean up the flour mess.

By the time Brad got home, the boys were fed, nearly ready for bed, and we were all rather down. There wasn’t a lot of joy or peacefulness in our home. It definitely wasn’t a haven. There was still a hesitant tension in the air, and it was my fault.

Accidents, both potty-related and otherwise, happen – often – especially in a house with young children. Spills, messes, and “I forgot” are an everyday occurrence around here, and honestly, I’m usually the one reminding my husband that our boys are still little, still learning.

No, we don’t want them to get away with disobedience and not being quick to do what we ask, but most of their offenses that evening weren’t bad or in that arena. Had I had a little more patience with the lesser incidents, the major trouble of not obeying could have been dealt with easier.

And many of my difficulties weren’t entirely because of them.

I spilled the milk. I neglected to turn down the burner when I left the stove. I don’t even know what happened with the flour.

We all have those days. The ones where Murphy’s Law is working overtime to make sure that absolutely everything that can go wrong, does. The ones where we should really just stop what we’re doing and pray. Pray against strife, pray against short-tempers, pray for understanding and compassion, pray for patience, peace, and wisdom.

But if I don’t use wisdom and get sleep…then I’m not rested, and I’m already physically tired as I face a crazy day. I will fail to respond properly and won’t have a balanced view of things. In those moments, I tend to react more emotionally and more selfishly. When I’m tired, my flesh is even louder, so sensing God’s nudge in those trying situations is even harder.

As we said our prayers that night, I asked for forgiveness for my harshness and impatience, both from God and from my boys.

Then I went downstairs to get ready for bed myself, and because God has a sense of humor, as I was changing my clothes, I found a large lump in my back jean pocket.

Silly putty, slipped into my pocket by my mischievous Josiah at some point during the chaotic evening and smooshed hopelessly into the fabric because I’d already sat down on it before I realized it.

*Sigh* Yep. It had been one of those days, and it was time to get some sleep.

(Some of you may remember seeing this picture on my Instagram that night.)

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Not the best evening for this mommy. After a disastrous hour or so pre-dinner (pretty sure it's turning into a blog post), I end my night by finding silly putty in my back jean pocket, compliments of Josiah. (Special shout out to the grandparents who have him that awesome stocking stuffer.) I'm calling it a night and #praying for tomorrow. #sillyputtypocket #itkindoflookslikeaface #momof2yearold #momofboys #mamasaidtheredbedayslikethis #mommyblogger

A post shared by Kishona Lape (@lifeinlapehaven) on Jan 5, 2016 at 8:22pm PST