I Quit This B.

Do you like the title of my blog??? It is a shortened, safe-for-work version of a phrase that comes to mind when things are just a little too much for us to cope with, mentally. Billy started saying this a while ago, and now it's much a part of our everyday lingo, along with things like "Friggin' Jawas" and "Your Mom". What can I say? We are crass and immature, but we at least make ourselves laugh when we otherwise would cry or curl up in a corner somewhere, rocking.

I haven't had a particularly horrible week, just busier than I'd prefer.... and, to top it all off, it had to be that magical time of the month, and it's really been a doozy for whatever reason this month.

Not only did I decide to take the week off from exercise of most forms--which is pretty unheard of for me because I've not taken a week off from working out since last April--but I've also pigged out. So I've been in rare form and pretty intolerant of lots of things. Sounds fun, eh?

Today has been a strange day. I woke up to glorious rain (I dooooo love sleeping during rain, so I was pretty happy about that), but had to rush in to church because Wendy and I were singing for communion after morning service. Until she got called in to a birth, that she is not yet home from. Ahhh, the magic of birth.

Once I found out we were not singing, I went down the church hallway and discovered Hunter sprawled on the floor, protesting any attempts to get him into the Junior Church classroom. I decided to take him in and sit with him (since he wouldn't let me leave), and ended up in there with the teacher, who was by herself. I think it bears repeating that I am not an arts & crafts guru. She had them making something that had to be colored, cut out, and taped together. Most of the kids are not good with cutting, and none of them really knew how to tape the boxes together, so we struggled to do it for them.... only to have approximately 75% of them left behind in the room at the end of the class. I ended up, also, in a separate room with the littlest kids, referreeing while they put together a floor puzzle that was too small for six kids to work cooperatively on. Ugh.

I pretty much passed out when I got home from lunch.

Went back in early for ensemble practice, which started at 5 p.m., and ended up in the nursery with Melinda for about half of service because Ethan was throwing a fit at being left in there, and then my niece Hailey was really unhappy at being left, too, and just wanted to be held for a while. Somewhere along the line Billy came into the nursery, asking me to make an "Out of Order" sign for one of the bathrooms, which started Hailey and Ethan crying again........ Double ugh.

Eventually I did end up in the service, but I really had no idea what he was preaching on. Elders? Deacons? Something like that.

At the end, I went up to get Logan from his class, just in time to hear one of the teachers tell him that something he did was rude and that he needed to apologize, to which he busts out of the room and says, "I'm not sorry!". Argument ensues between Logan and myself, and I can see that the two teachers in the room would also like to strangle my son. That's not a good thing.

Logan proceeds to go into my mom's classroom, where the kids are allowed to pick out a prize. I hear my mom try to slow him down or make him wait--not sure which--and he is not listening. I tell him he is grounded and I pull him out of the room.

The entire ride home is one big, loud, torturous blur. Kids screaming and crying and kicking eachother, and Billy and I sharing knowing looks, wondering if there is any leftover liquor hiding in our house somewhere, anywhere.

I tried to calmly talk to Logan about how he has to take control of himself. He says he doesn't understand why he has to control himself when the other kids in our family or elsewhere aren't. I told him that I am not the parent of any of those other kids, and that was the responsibility of their parents. It was up to them to make sure that their kids were disciplined, and I couldn't help it if those kids got away with stuff... I totally understand his frustration, because I try to keep as good of a handle on his behavior as I can when I am made aware of it--and it would be hard to be getting in trouble for a reaction he had to something wrong someone else did. But he has to learn to react maturely, yes?

Does this make sense?