June 20, 2012

Tuesday came to a close and a chorus of crying and sniffling filled our home.  Over the sounds of moaning and groaning you could hear Norah's voice loud and clear, "Nothing went my way today!"

I hear you, sister.

It didn't start out miserable, in fact we had enjoyed playing games and messing around most of the day. But then five o'clock rolled around and it all started to unravel.  My attempts at dinner was the first tug on the string that would pull out the knots in our day.

After prepping, cutting, sauteing vegetables and rolling out the pizza dough, the stromboli I was making was coming together nicely.  The kids commented on the yummy garlic smells coming from the kitchen and they were even willing to look past the veggies to see that the cheese and sauce might redeem the dinner.  And then it all broke loose. 

Literally.

According to this undoctored photograph, the stromboli had trouble making the crucial move to the pan.  It was sticky and it stuck to everything:  the counter, the spatula, my hands and every other flat tool I pulled out in the hopes of saving dinner.  I sent the kids from the room to protect them from the growling and grumbling erupting from my mouth.  (How could Mario Batali have failed me so?!)

As Brett walked in the house, I'm ashamed to say that I greeted him through clenched teeth, "Don't say a word."  He responded graciously with, "Are we going out for dinner?"  He's a good man.

While I shoveled dinner into the kitchen trash, the kids whooped and hollered their way to the van.  They tried not to look too thrilled with the spontaneous dinner out and their "by the skin of their teeth" escape from a veggie pizza.

But little did they know that Tuesday wasn't done with dishing out the trouble.

In the midst of dinner, we encountered the additional challenges:  "mild" hot-wings that brought fresh tears to Ashley's eyes, confusion with Norah's dinner (french fries instead of celery sticks ... I wouldn't have whined), Brett's chicken and shrimp dinner delivered shrimp-less, an awkward table and some boisterous background noise that inhibited any actual talking and 99 cent kid's dinners charged at full price.  The only consolation to the kids was the promise of homemade ice cream when we got home.

Or not.

I had bought the needed ingredients, but I had failed to read the recipe through from beginning to end.  As I whisked the milk, sugar and cream together, I read the fatal words, "Let chill for 1 to 2 hours."  Nothing was going my way!

Upon breaking the tragic news to the kids, we were awash in a fresh torrent of tears.  True misery.  Pitiful heartbreak.  Wrenching anguish.

As I handed out tissues and ushered the girls to bed, Norah reiterated her despondency, "Nothing went my way today!"  My only consolation ... tomorrow's a new day.

And it was.

I'm so grateful to report that Wednesday was wonderful.  We played and laughed a lot.  We ate a dinner that didn't try to destroy itself.  We savored homemade vanilla ice cream.  We shared our bests and leasts of the day ... and couldn't come up with any leasts.

Sometimes we truly need do overs.  Gratefully God knows that and that's why His mercies are new and fresh every morning ... a fresh day to try again.  (Lamentations 3:22-23)

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