Pastry hangover

The only thing harder than leaving your kids for a getaway with your lover is having to come back home to them. Our weekend in Paris was not long enough. I will not bore you with any more of my isn’t-Paris-amazing soap box ranting. We went, we french kissed, and I ate an apple cart’s worth of pastries.

When we pulled into the driveway on Sunday night I could hear the wailing over Big Green’s woofing diesel engine. June and Georgia came flying out of the house sobbing hysterically about every single boo boo they had incurred during our 48-hour separation. We finally got everyone to bed but by 10:00 I hit my fifth wind and couldn’t sleep. I stayed up until midnight–big Texas sized mistake.

Yesterday morning I woke up with what can only be described as a pastry hangover. I’ve been off the processed white stuff and fake sugars for a while now so a weekend of binging like a runner-up beauty queen the day after the pageant really didn’t sit well with my body. I was absolutely wiped.

By the time the evening hit and I’d played catch-up with house and home (complete with frequent bouts of snuggling Georgia) I was trashed. Don’t ask me how Jason was able to function so well yesterday, the man is obviously made of steel. By dinner time the kids were crying again, I was  yelling again, the food was overcooked and under seasoned and no one would cooperate and set the table. June was taunting Harry, Harry was bothering Rex, Georgia was face down on the tile floor crying about one of her babies and I wanted to jump right back on the Ice Train and go back to Paris.

Once Jason got inside things settled down about 4%. But our meal was miserable, the kids talked over each other and June threw a fit, it was late and everyone needed baths. I was determined that if ever there was a night to skip Family Home Evening it was last night. To bath and to bed, Mama was done.

But Rex was equally determined to be all righteous and insisted we at least have a song and a game.

“Fine,” I told them all once they were clean and jammied, “One game but that’s it, then you’re all going to bed.”

But halfway through Rex’s surprisingly good game called, “What’s the difference?” (he’d draw two pictures and ask everyone to tell what the differences were between the two objects) Harrison leaned over.

“Mom,” he whispered, “Can I do the spiritual thought? I’ve got an idea.” What was I supposed to say to that? No? Please don’t share anything about Jesus with the rest of us because I’m not in the mood?

“As long as you can find a scripture to go with your topic before Rex is finished you can do whatever you want.”

30 seconds later Rex stepped down and Harrison took the stage. He then proceeded to give us a lesson on fasting, including reading from the New Testament about Christ fasting, and then thought of an object lesson to go along with it all. He drew a clock on the black board with a time, like 12:35. Then he asked the little kids to give a thumbs up or thumbs down  on whether it was ok to eat at that time on Fast Sunday.

His father and I were mostly speechless. Seriously, who are these little people?

Last night I failed as a parent. Thank goodness my kids have each other, there is hope yet.