I spent the morning walking around the house like the anti-Santa, tossing crayons rumpled papers and wrappers into a large used Target shopping bag.I did laundry, mopped and vacuumed around kids who ignored me except for turning up the volume on iCarly.
I'm not complaining about cleaning; I do it in a cute apron wearing heels (for "exercise") and playing Pandora on my iPhone.
The real sacrifice came today after laundry, after dishes, after making beds, when I cleaned out the Freezer.
A single ice cream sandwich sat alone in it's box, the sole survivor of a slumber party feeding frenzy.
As a good (sacrificing) Mother, I took it upon myself to do the right thing with that poor grenade of a single ice cream sandwich -- eat it.
I'm not complaining about cleaning; I do it in a cute apron wearing heels (for "exercise") and playing Pandora on my iPhone.
The real sacrifice came today after laundry, after dishes, after making beds, when I cleaned out the Freezer.
A single ice cream sandwich sat alone in it's box, the sole survivor of a slumber party feeding frenzy.
As a good (sacrificing) Mother, I took it upon myself to do the right thing with that poor grenade of a single ice cream sandwich -- eat it.
Quickly, silently, diligently, hiding in the kitchen like the out-numbered underarmed peacemaker that I am, I savored each sweet creamy bite of wisdom and peace.
I had no choice.
The kids would soon find it together during an iCarly iCommercial break snack-hunt and fight over who would get the last one.
No ice cream sandwich meant no fight, I thought, and no fight means peace love and weekend happiness in the house.
No ice cream sandwich meant no fight, I thought, and no fight means peace love and weekend happiness in the house.
I washed the chocolate stickiness off my hands, then folded the empty box and stuffed it into the big red bag of trash, then silently prayed to again and again be allowed to sacrifice myself this way as an instrument of peace.
