Last Thursday was a really, really bad day. I felt yucky-- I hadn't washed my hair since Sunday; didn't exercise; ate junk; hadn't had any consistant sleep for several days; had grumpy, naughty kids and a teething, whiney baby with an ear infection that I didn't know about; had a sink full of dishes; about 10 loads of laundry to fold; a guilt complex about how I'd done nothing all day except discipline kids; etc...
So, I had told 2 of my friends in our ward who had just had babies that I would bring them dinner that night. I planned to make this yummy broccoli cheese soup and my favorite cinnamon rolls because they are a huge crowd pleaser, right? Well, I got out my huge stock pot and started the soup around 4:30 p.m. First you have to cook the vegies and then you add the cheese sauce. Anyway, it's a pretty long process, so while the soup was cooking I made the cinnamon rolls. I had Monica drop off Brooklyn and Joni so that my kids would have friends to occupy them, put on a movie, and assumed that Cameron would do great since he had just had a nap. However, much to my dismay, Hallie, Bryant, Brooklyn and Joni fought like cats and dogs, and Cameron cried and fussed the entire time I was preparing dinner. I strapped Cameron in his chair and shoveled food in his mouth to try to keep him happy while I mixed the cinnamon rolls, mixed the ingredients for the cheese sauce and yelled at the big kids to stop fighting. Imagine the horror when at 5:55 p.m. I am getting ready to dish up the soup that was supposed to be delivered at 6:00 p.m., and I notice that my creation is not the creamy, delicious consistancy of cheesy broccoli soup, but big chunks of cheesy goo and watery, yellowish liquid. I panicked. I tasted the soup to see if it was still edible, and it was, but it just looked so disgusting that I couldn't give it to someone who had made me gourmet lasagna when I had had my baby. So, I packed up the cinnamon rolls since they had survived the ordeal, and looked in the freezer. I found only 1 frozen pizza. I called Monica and begged for another. "I've got nothin,'" is all I heard and I hung up and frantically called everyone in the ward that I could call that would possibly lend me a frozen pizza. This calling process took much longer and was not as effective as it could have been had I had my cell phone, which I had misplaced the week before. Most of the people that I wanted to call were not on the ward list and the one's that were didn't answer.
Monica arrived shortly after and tried to help me brainstorm a solution to my problem. Finally, she was inspired and offered up the soup she had made for her family's dinner. Since Tom wasn't scheduled to be home from work that night, I offered up the rest of the cinnamon rolls for our kids to eat for dinner. Then I ran to her house, packed up the soup and dropped it off with the cinnamon rolls about 30 minutes late. I was done.
I came home to a HUGE mess. In all of my cooking and child caring, I had managed to totally destroy my kitchen, and the kids helped out with the living room and their bedroom. I put the kids to bed, of coarse with a huge fight, and sat on the couch to watch some tv to help numb my brain, and avoided doing dishes, laundry, showering, etc.
Mike showed up around 9:00 p.m. It was an early night for him. I was impressed. He happily did the dishes and cleaned up the messes before he went to play basketball. I was elated. I just didn't think I could do it and live to see another day. The tears flowed and Niagra Falls came crashing down. I have such a great husband.
The moral of the story is...
The Lord always knows what we need and how to help us in our times of trial. He knew that I had only one frozen pizza and he made up the difference for me by sending Monica to save me with her amazing homemade chicken noodle soup. He blessed me because I had done all I could and he knew that I couldn't do any more. He also knew that I just couldn't do one more thing that night so He miraculously sent my husband home from work to save my from my dishes.
Moral # 2...
It can always get worse.
And that brings me to the end of my story. That HUGE pile of dishes that Mike loaded into my dishwasher... well, it didn't actually get cleaned that night. We ended up doing them all by hand the next day because the dishwasher decided it had finally had enough. The dishwasher died.
Thank heavens we're in a rental and moving out in 3 weeks!