Today has been one of those days you really don't enjoy. When my husband got home, I told him I wanted to run away from home and let somebody else be the mommy! And, I did it without pouting (too much). He did what a good husband should and gave me a hug, made dinner, then left for an evening meeting.
When my husband left, he did take with him three of our 5 children, leaving the oldest and the youngest home with me. Thankfully, they are only on season 6 (out of 9) of "Little House on the Prairie" and have been quite content to entertain themselves with the gray-screened babysitter as I've cleaned up dinner and the rest of the carnage from the day.
At least the oldest has been. The youngest decided she needed something out of a kitchen drawer but misguaged the speed with which the drawer would close, closing her thumb in the drawer. After regaining her composure, and getting back her breath from the cries of pain that racked her little body, she asked pitifully for a "banaid." "Hurts" she said, holding up the injured digit, followed by "Banaid. I need it."
Knowing Mommies have "magic" in their kisses, I kissed the booboo, but it just wasn't enough. So, we marched into the bathroom, where a bandaid was gently applied. This time, the "magic" worked. Suddenly the pain was better, and the previously inconsolable toddler left the bathroom with the words, "All better."
Maybe the next time I have one of those days, I need to ask Jesus for a bandaid!
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