Angry

I woke up angry this morning.  Not a little irritated or vaguely annoyed.  Seethingly, vehemently mad at the world.  And for no real good reason.  Nothing unusual, anyway… especially given the season.  Nothing except the fact that, despite my best efforts and frantic, consistent accomplishing, my to-do list kept getting longer instead of shorter. And the list of people willing to help me with it was nonexistent.  My kids were whiny and my house was filthy and the laundry was stacking up and my husband AND my kids were playing video games.  It was 7:30 am.  

I thought, perhaps, that coffee would help.  So I got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen to make myself a double dose of caffeine.  And I was feeling motivated.  So I loaded the dishwasher and finished putting out the Christmas decorations while I sipped on my Winter Blend.  Feeling accomplished, I put in a load of laundry and brought all of the bins from decorating back into the garage.  

My son called for his mom, and I sat on the edge of his bed for a few rare moments of preteen heart-to-heart conversation.  I thought I might be able to shake this funk.  But then I walked back upstairs with a laundry basket and my husband made a pretty benign comment about wanting to change the sheets and I probably looked like my head was going to explode.  “I JUST CHANGED THE SHEETS.  DO YOU SEE THE SEVEN BASKETS OF LAUNDRY THAT NEED TO BE FOLDED?  AND YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT CHANGING THE SHEETS?!?!”

In hindsight, I realize I may have overreacted.  

Thus continued a crappy morning.  I desperately wanted to skip church and get some much needed alone time and clean my dirty house.  I haven’t read a book in almost a month.  I haven’t written anything in nearly as long.  These are bad signs. But the thought of having to explain to the kids why mom could skip church and they most definitely could NOT (added to the fact that I would still have to drop them off and then slink out of the church parking lot like some kind of criminal), motivated me to get dressed and put on my Christmas earrings and get my butt in a pew.  

It started sleeting as I drove in.  Somebody stole my parking spot.  I parked a quarter mile away, stomped through the sleet, skipped greeting the pastor, and headed to my regular spot.  A friend sweetly asked how I was, and I replied, “Unusually and inexplicably angry.” She laughed and commiserated. Even when I’m mad, it feels good to be around my people.  

I sat down and opened my bulletin And wouldn’t you know it… It’s the third week of advent. Do you know what the third advent candle represents?  Joy.  Of course it does.  

I love my church.  I really do.  I love the pastors and the music and the people.  Often, I sit there on Sundays and I am moved to tears. Today’s service was inspiring. And beautiful.  And thought-provoking.  At one point, the pastor spoke about being grateful for the hard stuff, too, because even the hard stuff is part of God’s gift to us. At that moment, my husband reached over and took my hand, because we had JUST had this conversation on Friday, when we were feeling particularly grateful for each other.  

I’m glad I went to church. It was good for me.  But I can’t say that I was feeling joyful just for having been there.  I was maybe marginally less vitriolic.  But as we stood around, catching up with our friends, my husband made a comment about our plans for New Years Eve, and I swear I don’t know what happened to me. I snapped.  Embarrassingly.  Like our friends’ eyes popped out of their faces and they politely excused themselves so I could whisper-fight with my husband in the sanctuary.  

My frustrated but patient husband agreed to take our youngest with him to his parents’ house for a little while.  Our middle son stayed for youth group.  Our daughter came home with me but mostly cleaned her room and stayed out of my way, which was probably wise.  

I cleaned.  You wouldn’t think that would make me feel better, but it definitely did.  I got a ton of laundry done and vacuumed up three canisters of dog hair and dusted and cleaned my baseboards.  I went through an entire canister of Clorox wipes.  I drank a cup of tea and picked up diorama supplies from the dollar store.  I lit some candles, read the first chapter of a novel, and began to write. 

What a difference.  A few hours later, and we’re back to business as usual.  There’s football on the TV and tutoring happening in the dining room and a ten year old constructing a diorama on the coffee table.  I’m going to finish this post and switch from tea to wine and order a pizza because cooking will likely ruin my newly-established good mood.  

I’m going to watch the Patriots game and look over my lesson plans for the week.  I’m going to help this kid with the hot glue gun and then frost some cookies and make peppermint bark with Bea.  I’m going to enjoy my clean house and my beautiful family.  

Tonight, I’m going to find that joy that the pastor was talking about. I’m going to thank my husband for putting up with my mood swings.  I’m going to let my family know that I’ve left them all the jobs that I hate; pairing the socks and unloading the dishwasher and sorting the recyclables. I’m going to remember that the hard days make the lovely ones that much more precious. The angry days, the joyful days, the mundane days… tonight, I’m going to remind myself to remember that God is working in all of them.