therapeutic checkers

Yesterday was one of those days.

You know what I'm talking about.

The kind of day where you wish you could crawl under the blankets and disappear.

I'm counting down the days until my ministers' wives retreat next weekend with a Beth Moore simulcast. I seriously almost break down crying every time I think about it. A retreat? Just for ministers' wives? I don't have to plan anything? Watching Beth Moore live? I might die.

Yesterday I stood there, paralyzed, looking at my chaos of a kitchen, imagining the mountains of clothes to fold and put away in the next room. Not to mention the three weddings and portrait session I still needed to finish editing. I was exhausted, weary, and whining (in my head) about how the hubs and I are way overdue for a date.

So. Much. To. Do. Where. To. Start.

"Mom, can you play checkers with me?"

Her voice pierced through my bad attitude like the sun through the clouds.

I thought about saying "no". Why would I play checkers when the house was about to fall apart? (Well, technically it already did.) Peter just went down for a nap. This was time to clean, not play!

I surprised myself. "Yes, actually, that sounds really fun sweetie!" Woah, did I just say that?

I wish you could have seen the wide angle view of my situation. Dishes spilling all over the place, Peter's "forsaken" food items splattered all over the floor, laundry piled sky high needing to be folded, books and homeschool items scattered all about, and Sitora sitting there in the middle of it all with a smile on her face and a princess checkers game all ready to go.

It was just what a I needed. Who knew checkers was therapeutic for zombie moms?

Today is better. The floor is scrubbed and the dishes dried. I called my mom and I hugged my husband. I snuggled my toddler and taught math to my kindergartener. I washed my face and put on something cute.  I feel less zombie like and a little more human. There is still hope for me after all.

I'm so glad I played that game of checkers with my daughter. I could have said "no". I had a lot to do. She would have figured out something else to play with by herself. But instead I chose her, and I chose to live in that moment and not get caught up in my stress. I pray she remembers these moments, where I'm sitting on the floor shouting, "King me!" and giggling like a schoolgirl, instead of the moments where I'm standing there like a paralyzed zombie in the kitchen where a spaghetti bomb went off.

I'm so glad.