Jill's Jabber: Taking it just one day at a time

Every morning I roll out of bed and go straight to my knees in prayer. What do I pray for? HELP. If I don’t say my prayers immediately upon awaking, chances are very high that the only prayers that will get said will be in my head. Prayers like, “Dear God, help me not to kill this child.”

But the other day, I stumbled out of bed, took Isaac (16) to church for his daily early morning seminary (scripture study), came home and got the other children ready and off to school, came home again and went back to bed. Zoe (9) had stayed home from school that day and the two little boys hadn’t woken up yet — a real rarity. They were probably tired from their 5 a.m. excursion down to my room to inform me that Jon had peed the bed. So, I thought, maybe I could catch a few winks before re-starting my day.

About 10 minutes later, I heard Jon (4) and Ben (2) out in the family room. I ignored it. When I heard one of them come into my room, I faked like I was asleep hoping he’d leave. But then I could feel him breathing on my face.

“Mom. Mom, get up,” the 2-year-old whispered. “Mom. Come out.”

I realized how pathetic I was and opened my eyes. His big black eyes where just inches from my face and then I heard something. A little gurgle. “Ben? Are you OK?” He just looked at me and gurgled again. I shot up off my pillow just in time for him to explode all over my bed. I don’t know what I thought a Kleenex would do, but I grabbed one and tried to catch whatever was gonna come out next. Coming to my senses I grabbed the boy and ran with him dangling from my hands to the bathroom. We made it for round two.

As a result of lifting the lid, I realized how badly the toilet needed cleaning and grabbed the cleaning supplies from the cupboard. Then I looked at poor Ben with his little barf-jammies and quickly put down the supplies. What was I thinking? I unzipped him, trying very hard not to touch anything, yuck.

I stood there with his wadded up jammies in my hand, frozen by the predicament of where to put them while he stood there, cold, in his diaper. I put them down in my husband Scott’s sink and lifted the sickling into my arms and hugged him.

After cleaning and dressing him, getting him and Jon comfortable in the family room with Zoe, I went back to my bathroom to get myself ready. I looked in the mirror. Scott comes home tonight, I really should dye my hair. The gray is out of control. Truth is, I’d be doing well just to get my make-up on. I turned to grab a Kleenex off the lid of the toilet. Oh yeah, the toilet. Ugh.

Something about that quiet moment cleaning the toilet with no interruptions caused me to remember that I hadn’t yet said my prayers and that I better go do it because I was really going to need help with this particular day ahead. There’s a reason I say prayers before all the kids are up. No sooner had I started when Jon came in and stood on my calves. He put his arms around my neck and started whispering “Mom, where’s my lightsaber?”

 I whispered back, “I don’t know.” He whispered, “What are you doing, are you saying your prayers?” “Yes, Jon.”

 “What are you saying?”

“Jon, can you just let me pray?”

“But, Mom, I can’t find my lightsaber.” “Jon, if you will let me finish I’ll help you.”

He was silent long enough for me to pray: “I’m sorry Father in Heaven, it’s really hard to concentrate right now. Just PLEASE help me get through this day.”

It was light outside now which for me means as I walk from one room to the other I can see — I can see everything I need to clean up. I walked past the office room with the steamer still leaning on the wall — it had been there for a week. I really need to get to that today, I thought. I kept walking. Past the dining room table with piles of papers and junk I still needed to sort through and “deal with.” Ugh. My least favorite chore.

I sighed as I paused to look at the Christmas tree caught in its sad little time-warp. We only watered it once so now it’s basically a 7-foot tall green porcupine. My eyes moved around the living room at all the Christmas decorations screaming at me that it wasn’t Christmas anymore. The stockings were still hung by the chimney with care in hopes that Nanny McPhee soon would be there to take them all down, box them up and neatly store them downstairs. I walked into the laundry room, glanced around and stopped. Now, what did I come in here for? For the life of me I can’t remember, so I re-trace my steps, hoping that something will trigger my brain to remember why I had originally headed for the laundry room. I’m in my bathroom again and see Ben’s pj’s in the sink. Oh yeah! Got it. I grabbed them and headed again for the laundry room. This time I run. Get there before forgetting is the goal.

So thus goes the day. People often ask me, “How do you do it?” The truth really is just one day at a time. Each day I have a list in my head of everything I want to get done. I don’t think I have ever crossed off more than about one-quarter. Scott came home that night and the house wasn’t perfect, dinner wasn’t made yet, I still had gray hair. But the toilet was clean. And that’s nice.

Jill’s Jabber is a bi-weekly column by resident Jill Reichner, wife of Rep. Scott Reichner (R-Bigfork) and mother of nine. Contact her at jillsjabber@hotmail.com.