
I wish I had a video camera to record last night's supper escapade. Instead, I will (figuratively) draw it out for you.
Dustin, having come home late from school, was frantically trying to get things ready to go for his hunting/school trip. (In no way related, he just combined them for an extra good time.) The boys are desperately trying to get his attention. They know something's up, and about to change. Elle is being cute and quiet- as usual.
My crock pot is cooking away- trusty old crock pot- making mind blowing beef barley stew. Nugget potatoes and the last of our garden carrots. Yum!
Flash to me. Wandering around in a daze, not wanting to admit that Dustin is ACTUALLY leaving. I'm ACTUALLY going to be on my own totally for the next while with a crazy two year old, a "having behavioural problems on the school bus" (but aside from that, very kind) four year old, and the miraculous little newborn. Trying to help Dustin get things together, check the stew, wondering 'Why is the barley not cooking faster?', and keeping the boys from killing each other as they clamour for Dustin's attention.
Dustin barely scrapes out the door, freeing himself from my death grip. My last words to him, 'Don't die. I'm serious. I can't do this alone.' Cheery, huh? No romantic good-byes reminiscent of newlyweddom, only a plead not to leave me to raise three kids alone.
Cue: my pregnant friend, for whom the rest of the stew was destined. I forgot she can't handle meat this pregnancy so my good deed was most likely moot. She's so sweet, bringing her own container for the stew. She gets out the door as fast as she can, my yelling, but best intentioned, two year old hanging on my leg.
Finally, it's time to eat. I had set the boys' stew on the table before Dustin had left so it would be cool enough to eat. I put Elle down in her carseat so I can help Sammy eat. She cries. I tell myself she'll stop. Max cries- screaming and wailing. "I don't want to be the man of the house!" I think this is motivated by the expectation to eat a meat stew, and given Max is a bit of a vegetarian, I can see the problem. I snap- "You HAVE to be the man of the house! Dad's gone and it's your job!" I realize I'm speaking to a four year old, who just doesn't want to eat stew. Time for prayer. I offer a hasty thanks and a 'please bless'. Sam refuses to say amen. I can handle that. Sam refuses to eat. Max refuses to eat. I give up, picking up a crying Elle, and delve into my just-out-of the crock-pot-stew. Potatoes are raw. Carrots are raw. Barley is cooked- barely. At this point, I'm starting to get a little frustrated. and by a little, I mean steam is shooting from my ears. I finish my stew while Sam is in and out of his chair, and under the table. Up he comes. I give Sam some cut up potato on his spoon, and he stands on his chair, turns his back to me, and dances. All out shake his booty and shoulders dancing. I almost started to cry. Why won't my kids just eat their supper? Why do I even try? Why does Sam have to get out of his seat and crawl under the table? Why does he dance? Why does Max hate meat? Why does he cry on the bus? How do I know if he's telling me the truth about his irritable bus driver? Why did Dustin have to leave? Why did I agree to this?
Why am I so alone?
Sam looks at me, "you're my best friend, mommy". Dance dance dance. Max finishes his stew without meat, and wants grapes.
I start to laugh. I had given all I could, what else could I do? I call my nauseated pregnant friend, and warn her about the stew. I put Elle in the bath and rub her with yummy lotion, laughing and smiling at me the whole time. I call Dustin and tell him he owes me an afternoon out on the town. I play Candyland with the boys. I let Max win. I forget about the bus driver, I don't mind the stew, and I'm happy that Max doesn't like meat. Maybe he'll live to be a hundred years old.
Jammies, prayers, scriptures. Lights out. This is when I read
this conference talk by Jeffery R. Holland, and apostle who has given amazing talks on the atonement and Christ's love for us. This was what I expect. I get something totally different. I get exactly what I need. I feel happy because I remember telling Max about listening to the prophets as their voice is the same as the Lord's. I know that my Saviour remembers me, and I'm not alone.
I learned a couple of things at supper last night:
1. My kids don't care about eating. Why should I?
2. When I've given life all I have, I need to learn to laugh.
On a totally different note, here are some pictures of the rough family history book I've been working on getting published. This is the soft cover. Let me know if you like the type color on the front. I only have until Monday to change it. I wanted it to look as close to the original book as they could get. I can't wait until Santa brings us a Rebel and our pictures will be legit. =)
