Our Own Fairy Tale

We were leaving. Chris was off to our church's annual men's retreat, the children and I to visit with friends and then on to West Virginia to visit a new niece.

He had left earlier. I was determined to leave our house show ready. It had been pointed out to me that there was no scheduled Saturday showing. Abigail and Simon longing for some good attention, positive knowledge of what was coming next, and  just a bit stretched from all that has been happening around here were behaving appropriately under the circumstances.

In other words, Chris was gone, I was stressed about a hoped for event, and the children were fighting.

Before we left, two were crying and one was sitting near tears on the kitchen floor. All our plans were available for scrapping (I threatened to call Chris back, so we could do absolutely nothing for the weekend.) But we prayed and wiped tears and left the vacuum in the center of the kitchen. Potential viewers be warned.

On the way, we talked about what we liked about our family leader, for it was his desertion which really wasn't a desertion at all that was leaving me feeling most put out.

:: he plays legos ::

:: he wrestles ::

:: he goes to work far away from us every day ::

:: he plays barbies ::

:: he wrestles ::

:: he takes care of us ::

:: he gives smooooooches ::

:: he wrestles ::

:: he listens to us ::

Sometime in the drive to our friend's house for a girl's night with their kids who play well together outside, we found our smiles.

It has been a long weekend. A busy, long weekend. One where it is easy to breathe in frustration to spew out poison. Rebelling against it all is such hard work, but good work. It turns frogs into princes.