I remember thinking with Liam, "why do they call it the terrible two's? It most definitely should be the terrible three's." Emma has just hit this point home with me.
I was up checking my email while Fox was sleeping and Emma was "watching a movie." A few minutes later, after hearing hysterical screaming and crying from downstairs, I raced to see that she had gotten a carmel apple (we had made the night before) and was eating it with a pairing knife, in which she nicked her finger (thus the hysterical crying).
I got that taken care of, fed her and put her to bed. Fox and Emma are on exact opposite schedules, so as soon as I got her in bed Fox woke up. I decided to take a shower with Fox, otherwise I would not get one.
The shower is my thinking box. I think up the best ideas and solutions in the shower. I also go through troubles and questions. Today was a troubles and questions kind of day. I began thinking of all the things that have been troubling me. Like, "why am I here in Iowa, with a meager amount of money, and not in Utah where even with a meager amount of money I could be closer to my family." and "Why do I not know what is in store for the future? If I could just get a glimpse of what is coming up, I could do it" and "Why? Why couldn't Tony have chosen something closer to home? Why am I here?" and other such things. Nothing desperate or to sorrowful, just Why?
I got out of the shower and realized that Emma was out of bed. I walked downstairs to discover that she had been woken up by the shower (and Fox's loud screaming and banging in the shower) and had decided that this was an excellent time to get into anything and everything. She searched through my new purchases of the day and found a toy I had bought for my nephew and proceeded to open it, play with it a few minutes, and then discard it on the floor. Next she decided she was hungry and the thing that sounded most delicious, above all deliciousness, to her was a waffle with sprinkle parmasen cheese on top. She then proceed to dumped the whole contents of bottle of cheese on the waffle and floor...and that's when I walk in.
I was furious! I sent her up to bed (which happens to be my room during the day, so Fox can sleep in their room), then thought "what do I do?" I decided to let her cry for a few minutes and then go and calmly talk to her. When I walked in the room I could tell something was up. She looked slightly frightened, but I took that as her being frightened of my horrible mom yelling and screaming downstairs. I started to talk to her very calmly and then I saw it. Tony's pillow was perched up against the wall at an odd angle and something black was peeking over the top. I quickly flipped the pillow down to find an array of scribble colored on the wall and desk, done in...BLACK SHARPIE!!
I flipped, once again. I knew I had to get out before my crazy physico mom came out. I yelled through gritted teeth, "don't you move." And then slammed the door and walked out. I knew I couldn't do it by myself. I knew I need to talk to some one -to get my frustrations out and to know what to do with my insane child! So I called Tony, no answer. My mom, no answer. My Utah home, no answer. I calmed down and turned to the one person that was left. After saying a heart felt ("please don't let me beat her to death") prayer, I went in.
I talked, calmly (you can be proud), to her for a few minutes and told her that what she had done made me sad. That she knew she wasn't suppose to do any of it. And tried to make sure that her little three year old mind comprehended something of it. I then told her that she would have to help me clean everything up, which she joyfully agreed to (apparently, cleaning is better then being locked in a bedroom or yelled at...who knew?).
I gave her a broom and told her to sweep up the cheese that was everywhere on the floor. She replied "I can't see any cheese."
(Our tile is white, white cheese on white tile=hard to see)
I said "You may not be able to see it, but it's there, and I need you to clean it up."
She countered, "But I don't see any, Mom."
I replied, "I know, Emma, but I need you to clean it up!"
"But Why Mom?"
And in desperation I cried, "I don't need you to ask why! I just need you to do it!"
...and there it was. Like a ton of bricks. My answers to my questions. I could almost see my Father in Heaven looking down on me, his child, and after several times of my questioning, answering in desperation, "I don't need you to ask why! I just need you to do it!"
He can see the cheese that I can't. He knows why I am here and why I need to be here. And I need to stop asking him why and, like Emma did, just do it.
I am still at awe sometimes at how He works. I don't know of any other way that He could have shown me the shear frustration and desperation that he must feel after I ask him time and time again, "why? Why? WHY?", except to have me go through such a long and horrible day only to be questioned by someone who can not see or know the things that I know.
How great Thou art. How great Thou art.
