- vomit clean-up on bedding and carpets and beds, all without the help of a washing machine, which I sold on Craigslist the morning of the vomit-fest
- the disgusting accumulation of 8.5 years worth of grime underneath said washing machine
- the baby's loose bowels over plenty of outfits (again, without the help of washing machine)
- the 3 year old's pee off of the bedroom floor and his clothes, his way of voicing his displeasure at being put in time-out (and even though I made him go to the bathroom before time-out because this is not an isolated incident)
- broken glass due to the 8 year old's encounter with all of the lightbulbs I'd removed from the lamps to pack them
- an entire box of Cheez-Its, a bag of Goldfish, a half a container of Pringles, and a good amount of pretzels ground into the carpet by the 3 year old
Add that to the fact that J is out-of-town, all of the extra bedding and bowls were packed before the vomit incident, and that all 4 of the children got up in the night last night and the baby got up 3 times. Surely that warrants at least a guesthouse in the back of my heavenly mansion?
As I rocked little Zelly to sleep tonight and snuggled her close, I said a quick prayer in that moment of peace and I thought about how that prayer is different than the prayers I uttered in my desperate times when Mister was a baby and had C-diff and never slept. Then I begged Heavenly Father for sleep. I begged, I bartered, I threatened, even. Tonight I prayed that my little one would sleep better, but I added, "and if she doesn't, help me to be able to deal with it." I feel like I'm a little better at the dealing with it than I used to be. So maybe the cleaning has helped me on my way to heaven after all.