I had a wonderful enrichment meeting a few months ago where I had the opportunity of making a beautiful tile. I thought it was a perfect theme for my life at my current phase. The tile said: "Give Thanks."
I had it displayed on our computer desk where every time I saw it I said a silent prayer for something or everything I was grateful for.
And then the tragedy. It started out as a good idea. I bought Patrick three packages of Mentos and wrote an accompanying little note of love. He found the gift next to his dinner plate. After eating a couple and sharing some with Easton, he put them up on top of the desk to save for after dinner.
As we were cleaning up the dishes, we heard a crash...coming from the dining room. Patrick was the first one on the scene, and I could tell it wasn't good. I rushed in to find Easton standing on a chair trying to reach the mentos. He appeared to be all right. What a relief! "What fell?" I asked. "Your tile," was the somber reply. There on the ground was my beautiful tile, my ever inspiring reminder to be grateful. I nearly cried. Upon further inspection, we found the tile had hit a key on our computer and broken that on the way down as well.
But how could I be mad? The message urged me to be grateful despite the sad outcome. Easton was all right. Only one key had been broken on our computer. And this special tile has done it's job well over the last few months. My attitude has been one of pure thankfulness for all the Lord has given me. I will keep this picture forever as a reminder, as a symbol, as a token of gratitude.
It was one of those days. You know the ones where your boys won't sleep? They play for two hours in their room and refuse to take a nap. Finally Tate falls asleep, but Easton says he can't sleep. So he comes out to play but instead wants a movie and a snack. I tell him none of the above until he's had some shut-eye. He continues playing for about 10 minutes. He asks again. Again, no. So Easton decides to try again with the sleeping business. We walk into his room to tuck him in and Tate wakes up and starts screaming. I hurriedly close the door, praying that Tate goes back to sleep. Twenty seconds later I hear Easton talking to Tate. I think he's playing so I burst in and scold Easton. Easton runs sobbing to his bed saying, "I don't want Tate to be sad." I realize I got mad at him when he was just trying to help and Tate is still screaming in the background. Now both boys are crying. I retreat to my bedroom for approximately 14 seconds to offer a plea of help from Father. I return to the scene and ask Easton why he is still crying. He says he doesn't want Mommy to be mad. I get Tate out of the crib and we all sit down together on the carpet, sobbing. I tell each son how sorry I am. Miraculously, that does the trick. They are calmed. But I am not. I look upwards, wondering where relief is as tears continue to course down my cheeks. Easton goes to play with his legos and Tate goes off in some other direction. And still I cry. Suddenly, Easton walks toward me with a handmade Lego airplane he has just made. "This will make you feel better, Mommy." My heart melts. I wrap him in my arms and thank the Lord for my precious boys, even if they don't take their naps. I love you Easton P. and T. Wessr.
