Life...
This happened a couple years ago...I was revisiting this writing in my journal and thought I'd put it out there....
No wonder my days start with such restlessness. As if the rough night of sleep wasn’t bad enough, my body is awakened by the annoying sound of an alarm clock. This is just a hunch, but I’m thinking that my heart wasn’t created to handle the shock of some noise making machine blaring in my ear waking me from stage 4 R.E.M. sleep. I lean over to silence the noise that just filled my dark and peaceful room, trying to collect myself after such a disturbing and frightening experience. I know I must drag my carcass to the side of the bed and test my sleepy legs to see whether they will carry me to the shower. But I don’t want to. Just as I’m talking myself into moving toward the bathroom, two little bodies come barging into the room wanting to watch cartoons. I don’t feel like walking downstairs, but what choice do I have. At least my kids seem excited to start the day…they’re bouncing off the walls. They want juice and cereal and anything else that they can think of at the time. I know this sounds heartless, but I feel like saying, “Get it yourself you little selfish punks!” But as I think this, I deal with the guilt of what a cold hearted father I can be at times.
After I get them situated, I climb the stairs looking forward to a hot shower to massage my unmotivated body, soul, and spirit. Just as I open the bathroom door, I hear our youngest fussing in her bedroom. I know I need to get her out of her crib to change her diaper, but I just don’t want to. Instead, I hop in the shower and try to make like I don’t hear her screaming, screeching voice yelling at me to come and do whatever she wants, when she wants it. Needless to say, the shower wasn’t the calming experience I had hoped it would be. When I couldn’t take the clamoring racket any longer, I hopped out of the shower, rapped a towel around my waist and headed to her bedroom to quiet the raging beast.
I opened her door and the sight and smell made me want to run out in front of a fast moving tractor-trailer. She had unzipped her pajamas, ripped off her dirty diaper, and spread poop all over herself with her bare hands. It was then I thought, “Maybe I should have gotten her before taking a shower.” I knew I needed to clean her up, but I didn’t want to. I stood there looking at her hoping that I was just seeing things…that this wasn’t happening to me. The poop was all over her face and mouth, eyes and cheeks, stomach and legs…it was everywhere and it had dried. She just stood there and smiled like she was actually enjoying herself. I wanted to just go back to bed. After cleaning up the mess, I took her downstairs to feed her. I was so frustrated by then, I think I grabbed a cheese stick and whatever else I could find that would take her a long time to eat in her highchair. I went up to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. The day was just starting and part of me couldn’t wait to get it over with.
In times like these, I don’t need anyone to convince me that life isn’t as it was meant to be. It’s shattered and sometimes I feel like I’m simply here to pick up the pieces. I’m hoping this little story can offer you some warped form of encouragement that others are experiencing their own set of frustrations…you’re not alone.
No wonder my days start with such restlessness. As if the rough night of sleep wasn’t bad enough, my body is awakened by the annoying sound of an alarm clock. This is just a hunch, but I’m thinking that my heart wasn’t created to handle the shock of some noise making machine blaring in my ear waking me from stage 4 R.E.M. sleep. I lean over to silence the noise that just filled my dark and peaceful room, trying to collect myself after such a disturbing and frightening experience. I know I must drag my carcass to the side of the bed and test my sleepy legs to see whether they will carry me to the shower. But I don’t want to. Just as I’m talking myself into moving toward the bathroom, two little bodies come barging into the room wanting to watch cartoons. I don’t feel like walking downstairs, but what choice do I have. At least my kids seem excited to start the day…they’re bouncing off the walls. They want juice and cereal and anything else that they can think of at the time. I know this sounds heartless, but I feel like saying, “Get it yourself you little selfish punks!” But as I think this, I deal with the guilt of what a cold hearted father I can be at times.
After I get them situated, I climb the stairs looking forward to a hot shower to massage my unmotivated body, soul, and spirit. Just as I open the bathroom door, I hear our youngest fussing in her bedroom. I know I need to get her out of her crib to change her diaper, but I just don’t want to. Instead, I hop in the shower and try to make like I don’t hear her screaming, screeching voice yelling at me to come and do whatever she wants, when she wants it. Needless to say, the shower wasn’t the calming experience I had hoped it would be. When I couldn’t take the clamoring racket any longer, I hopped out of the shower, rapped a towel around my waist and headed to her bedroom to quiet the raging beast.
I opened her door and the sight and smell made me want to run out in front of a fast moving tractor-trailer. She had unzipped her pajamas, ripped off her dirty diaper, and spread poop all over herself with her bare hands. It was then I thought, “Maybe I should have gotten her before taking a shower.” I knew I needed to clean her up, but I didn’t want to. I stood there looking at her hoping that I was just seeing things…that this wasn’t happening to me. The poop was all over her face and mouth, eyes and cheeks, stomach and legs…it was everywhere and it had dried. She just stood there and smiled like she was actually enjoying herself. I wanted to just go back to bed. After cleaning up the mess, I took her downstairs to feed her. I was so frustrated by then, I think I grabbed a cheese stick and whatever else I could find that would take her a long time to eat in her highchair. I went up to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. The day was just starting and part of me couldn’t wait to get it over with.
In times like these, I don’t need anyone to convince me that life isn’t as it was meant to be. It’s shattered and sometimes I feel like I’m simply here to pick up the pieces. I’m hoping this little story can offer you some warped form of encouragement that others are experiencing their own set of frustrations…you’re not alone.
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