It hasn’t been a great week so far. I haven’t had much writing time, which always makes me grumpy. I responded to an email I should have ignored, which led to escalation of something incredibly petty. Monday and Tuesday were lost to running around town, so the dishes and the laundry are piled to Heaven, and it’s not even because I’m ignoring them. I’m suffering from lack of focus (as evidenced by the six different blog entries I have begun and discarded while sitting here at swim lessons), and I swear the kids are possessed.
Exhibit A: Julianna goes straight for the cabinet full of stainless steel bowls (which is bad enough), but Alex decides because she wants it, he wants it, so he shoves her out of the way. Knowing she’s outmatched in a fight, she transfers her attention to the silverware drawer…which Alex, in turn, has to have himself. I tell him to back off. The next thing I know, there is a bloodcurdling scream from Julianna. I pick Alex up and haul him backward.
Exhibit B: Alex wants apple cider. We tell him to finish the lemonade first. Mind you, sweet drinks are well-rationed in this house, and lemonade is a rare treat in itself. “I want APple CIder!” he says. (Maybe you don’t remember this tone of voice, but I guarantee you did it yourself when you were little.)
“Tough,” I say. “We finish the lemonade first. There isn’t room in the refrigerator.”
“I don’t want lemonade!”
“Then have milk or water.”
“All I want is APple CIder!” And he becomes so fixated upon APple CIder that he decides he also doesn’t want his pasta.
And of course, there are the normal things. Julianna testing her speech therapist. Nicholas refusing to nap, and then screaming all the way through my lessons.
Last Sunday, we warmed up the choir as usual, except that the kids were gripier than usual. Currently there are seven “choir babies,” and although we have a sitter for Wednesday rehearsal and the nursery for Mass, at warmup, they’re all with us. We circled up to pray before we went upstairs for Mass, and Julianna and Alex started bickering, and another baby decided to “talk.” I laughed and prayed thanksgiving for chaos—mostly as a way to refocus my energy on the blessing that children are, instead of the irritation mine were causing me. Afterwards, one of our altos came over and touched my arm. “Remember,” she said, “serenity is calm in the midst of chaos…not in the midst of calm.”
God, teach me serenity.
Kathleen M. Basi 
*hugs* to you, and prayers for a better second half of the week.
Your alto is a wise woman. I wish I had her around to guide *me*!