Wrong Side of the Bed

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed the other day.  Sam and I shoveled heavy, wet snow off the driveway.  I spent the rest of the day feeling dissatisfied.  Melancholy.  (Or, to quote Flip in Bellwether by Connie Willis, “Itch.”)

Was it too much candy?  (Must. Stop. Eating. Candy.)  Or PMS?
The big kids went to their home school classes and had a great time, and SweetP and I spent the day looking at each other.  She’d see my grumpy face and ask, “Can I have another piece of candy?”  I’d say Yes.  She’d eat the candy.  I’d feel like a bad mom.  She’d see my grumpy face and ask…


I hate feeling this way.  I want to set the tone in our house, not spend my days responding to some invisible emotional thermostat.

I finally got off the couch and called a friend to see if we could take our kids to the gym, where I got 30 minutes on the bike and 30 minutes playing chase and tag and hide-and-seek and HORSE with the kids.  That helped.  Then I fixed the vacuum and at long last got the shredded leaves and sand off the floor.  That helped, too.  Doing.  That helps me– because when it comes down to it, I’m much better at doing than being.

But I so want to BE a grateful, kind person.  A person who has a servant’s heart, and doesn’t just DO serving things because it makes me feel better.  For now, though, I guess the latter will just have to be enough.

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