Day 31: I almost lost it

I almost, almost lost it today. My morning started with Andrew waking up in a bad mood and crying until Eddie woke up, late and ... poopy. Lame. I was late for workout class and couldn't find my iPod. So I brought my laptop, which didn't have music. So I tried Pandora, but my flash player needed updating... all while I'm apologizing for being late. I rush home to clean my house for an appointment that got canceled last minute. And I decide, I can use the extra time to get some work done (moms, always have to be prepared to enact plan B) So, I call the babysitter to see if I can drop off kids, and she really was hoping to have the day off. Sigh. Ok, plan C. I try to figure out what that is and while changing Andrew's diaper on the bathroom floor, Eddie leans on me and poops himself again. I'm ready to lose it. I realize there's no use in getting upset. I breathe deeply and try to be positive. I load up the kids and head out to pick up Papa Murphy's pizza just a few blocks away, with the plan of dropping in on the guys at work with Friday afternoon happy hour -- pizza and beer. Andrew was falling asleep, so I parked directly in front of the door and run in to quick order the pizza while leaving the kids in the car. The guy behind the counter is taking his time. I tap a little impatiently. Then a woman comes barging in "Are those your kids?" "Um, ya"

"It's against the law to leave your kids in the car like that. I should call the cops on you. What a terrible mother."

THAT'S when I almost lost it. I walked out. Got in my car and sat staring blankly into space --I let myself smile, at least I have a good story for this blog post.

We really aren't that much better than toddlers on the inside. Frustrations can add up over the course of a day like this and all we want to do it stomp around and throw stuff or scream or punch someone in the face. And then, when so close to the edge, someone -- a stranger -- decides to critique us in a vulnerable place. Like being called fat or ugly or incompetent. It was a shot at the jugular. But I didn't lose it. I bubbled up inside and then, it passed.

Ulrich reminded me this morning that tempered glass doesn't shatter. If treated well enough, it becomes bullet-proof. Every year, Lent is a tempering. A process that deepens me, thickens my skin and yet allows me to become more flexible to take on the journey that lies ahead. I think the faith is a tempering. It keeps us from shattering when life hits us with the hard stuff. Keeps us from breaking down on bad days and gives us strength to forgive and carry on.