We All Need a Little Help Sometimes

So there's no doubt that when we are running late, it's usually my fault. You could probably wager your first born child that I stayed up too late writing, or reading, or sewing. (of course, when else is a mamma supposed to get in "me time"?) That was certainly the case last night.
And so when I stayed up til 1am last night, then hit snooze for an hour and a half this morning and finally woke up at 7 (when Emily cane in to ask if it was a stat at home day) it was a par-for-the-course-late-day.

Except THIS morning, Micky had decided to take off his pull up last night, so I found him face down SOAKED in pee from head to foot. So much pee, in fact, that it had soaked through my TWO layers of bedding (I double-make the kids' beds so if they have one if those late night accidents, I can strip one layer and immediately have a fresh one underneath).

Micky thrives on routine, and a bath at 7am when we're running late is decidedly not a part of it (or mine for that matter). As you can probably imagine, what followed was:
1. A fight over getting the drenched-in-urine night shirt off
2. A fight over getting in the tub
3. A fight over getting out of the tub
4. A fight over getting dried
5. A fight over getting new clothes on
6. A fight over putting clothes and sheets in the washer
7. A fight over fighting

Keep in mind that each one of these fights came pre-packaged with severe kicking, hitting, screaming (Micky, not me ;), and equal portions of:
1. "That's not acceptable Micky."
2. "One. Two. Three . . . Okay, I'm done."
3. And plenty of following through

It's hard to believe I'm actually getting better at that. I guess practice really does make . . . Well, "better" if not perfect.

As it turns out, Renton and Emily must have had a direct line to God's ear this morning, because while rubbing my back or holding my hand (they try to caretake when Micky is throwing a fit - I think they want to remind me that it is not THEM misbehaving) they both said to me, "I'm so sorry Micky is being difficult. I will pray for things to get easier for you."

Of course I told them not to worry about Mommy. That I was strong and I'd make it through. (all the while praying myself). And then . . . Micky's tantrum passed, the smiles returned, and we all managed to get breakfast, have plenty of laughs and hugs and silly songs, and even made it to school with time to spare!

I guess in the end, no matter how tough or weak we feel, we ALL need a little help sometimes.

Micky throwing a tantrum with his "Baby Jesus"