Uncle!

Several weeks ago, in a fit of desperation I laid in bed and prayed for God to give me patience.  My kids were all in various stages of driving me bonkers, and rather than asking for them to change, I thought that maybe it was me who needed an adjustment.  Since that whispered prayer, however, I have suffered a variety of annoyances, large and small.  (a moment for perspective: I accept and acknowledge that my moaning about these annoyances that are not even blips on the screen of world suffering, is more than a bit shallow and self-absorbed.  I’m still going to write about it,in the hopes that at least some of you can laugh at my small suffering)

First, I tore three ligaments in my right wrist.  The hand I write with.  I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.  (The Brainiac’s response when I walked up to him, cradling my wrist and crying?  “You weren’t watching where you were going.  You always tell us to watch where we’re going!”  I would have strangled that child of mine, except I couldn’t move my hand.  Lucky for him)

Having my wrist immobilized for 6 weeks means that I can’t knit for that whole time.  I don’t know about y’all, and your various reasons for knitting, but I suspect I am not the only one who knits so I don’t kill people.  Stress from painful wrist+stress from not being able to do stuff+no knitting= one jacked up mama.  Not good, people.

So I’m cruising along, voraciously reading every book I can get my hands on and trolling the internets as meager substitutes for what used to be knitting time.  And then my computer charger dies.  And then I get a massive sinus infection.  And then my fridge dies, and the installation guys shove a too-large replacement in a justbarelytootight space, laving me unable to open half the fridge. And then they convince me that all I need to do is trim the counter down 1/4″ and it’ll be fine.  (As is I’m going to bust out the circular saw with my one good hand!)  And then the handyman who came to do said trimming instead pulls out the baseboard molding, jacking up my wall twelve ways to Sunday.  And the fridge still won’t open.  And then my washing machine starts alarming some bizarre error message that no one can figure out.  The door’s locked, with two of the boys’ baseball uniforms held captive inside.  Uniforms that they need to wear tonight. Repairman (covered under warranty, one bright spot in an otherwise dark day) won’t be here till Monday.  So now I’ve got half the kids not speaking to me, and I get to schlep to the laundromat with 3 days worth of laundry (and have to do it all one handed, mind you!)

So I’m left wondering who’s got a voodoo doll of me under their pillow?  I’m crying uncle here!  Of course, the real moral of this story is – Don’t pray for patience cause you just might get loads of opportunities to use it.