As usual, I had to have a rough evening before I could experience the blessing of the next day.
Last night I was tired. Lately I've felt like I could sleep 24 hours straight, yet my body only lets me sleep about seven hours, even when I take something like Advil PM to help me sleep. The result of going to bed early is waking up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., still feeling exhausted and emotional.
So last night, even though I know my emotions are unreasonable right now, I gave in and let my irritation show to Biruk (yes, Biruk, the boy who rarely misbehaves) when he refused to put the toy car away at suppertime. I wouldn't allow the boys to eat more oranges when they pulled up their noses at our meal (again). I announced it was shower and bedtime and was eager to be alone. My daughter confronted me about my mood, which, of course, didn't make me any more gracious.
After quickly putting the kids to bed and after mumbling an "I love you" anyway, their bedtime noises (coming from their room but not from their beds) further irritated me, and I went to the family room, where I didn't have to hear them, to sleep. Clearly my mood was no one's fault but my own.
But God delivers even in our most unworthy times, doesn't He?
This morning I apologized at breakfast. "I was crabby last night. I'm sorry." I don't know how much they understood, but I understood their tender smiles.
Then I started schoolwork with them. Biruk is adding one digit numbers and tracing lines so we can work on neater handwriting, Tadesse is adding three digit numbers and is copying his name in English. They grinned the whole time, basking in the praise of "gobez" (good job).
When I found them more Nerf bullets, they layered kisses on my cheeks.
When we ate lunch (they ate potatoes and oranges), they had a conversation about farting during sleep. My grown-up, motherly self tells me not to be proud of the topic, but how many kids can do that so early? Is it wrong to be proud of a conversation about flatulence? It sounded somewhat like this:
Biruk: " Mom, Mom! Wuchale? Tadesse sleep PFFFFFT!"
Tadesse: "No, Biruk!"
Biruk: "No, Tadesse!"
And then in a moment of lucidity in my new adoptive mom haze, I said, "Biruk and Tadesse, I love you." Here's what followed:
Tadesse: "I love you too!
Biruk: "I love you too!"
Tadesse: "I love you one!"
Biruk: "I love you two!"
Tadesse: "Mom? One, two? Big."
Awww.
So yes, while I am exhausted and moody, my cup still overflows, and I am thankful to God for these moments of tenderness that can say "love" in any language.
Last night I was tired. Lately I've felt like I could sleep 24 hours straight, yet my body only lets me sleep about seven hours, even when I take something like Advil PM to help me sleep. The result of going to bed early is waking up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., still feeling exhausted and emotional.
So last night, even though I know my emotions are unreasonable right now, I gave in and let my irritation show to Biruk (yes, Biruk, the boy who rarely misbehaves) when he refused to put the toy car away at suppertime. I wouldn't allow the boys to eat more oranges when they pulled up their noses at our meal (again). I announced it was shower and bedtime and was eager to be alone. My daughter confronted me about my mood, which, of course, didn't make me any more gracious.
After quickly putting the kids to bed and after mumbling an "I love you" anyway, their bedtime noises (coming from their room but not from their beds) further irritated me, and I went to the family room, where I didn't have to hear them, to sleep. Clearly my mood was no one's fault but my own.
But God delivers even in our most unworthy times, doesn't He?
This morning I apologized at breakfast. "I was crabby last night. I'm sorry." I don't know how much they understood, but I understood their tender smiles.
Then I started schoolwork with them. Biruk is adding one digit numbers and tracing lines so we can work on neater handwriting, Tadesse is adding three digit numbers and is copying his name in English. They grinned the whole time, basking in the praise of "gobez" (good job).
When I found them more Nerf bullets, they layered kisses on my cheeks.
When we ate lunch (they ate potatoes and oranges), they had a conversation about farting during sleep. My grown-up, motherly self tells me not to be proud of the topic, but how many kids can do that so early? Is it wrong to be proud of a conversation about flatulence? It sounded somewhat like this:
Biruk: " Mom, Mom! Wuchale? Tadesse sleep PFFFFFT!"
Tadesse: "No, Biruk!"
Biruk: "No, Tadesse!"
And then in a moment of lucidity in my new adoptive mom haze, I said, "Biruk and Tadesse, I love you." Here's what followed:
Tadesse: "I love you too!
Biruk: "I love you too!"
Tadesse: "I love you one!"
Biruk: "I love you two!"
Tadesse: "Mom? One, two? Big."
Awww.
So yes, while I am exhausted and moody, my cup still overflows, and I am thankful to God for these moments of tenderness that can say "love" in any language.
