me. At 10 am. Should've warned ya . . .

Every day, without fail, it comes: the ten o’clock hour.  This would be fine except it always brings with it feelings of frustration, futility and  despair.

I don’t even have to look at the clock to know 10 am has arrived.  I know it because the kids are scattered to the winds, Ellie is fussing and my to-do list seems insurmountable.  The house and schooling and life rises up and overwhelms me and, more often than not, I give up.  It’s just so much more work to not throw up my hands, throw in the towel and sit down with the paper.

The biggest problem (you know, aside from letting total anarchy reign while I lie down in defeat. . . ) is that now I dread it’s arrival.  I don’t think it is necessary to explain how ridiculous this is.  It is impossible, after all, to stop time or, instead, to fast forward through that single hour in my day.  Now, when I know it is looming before me, I start to panic and hyperventilate in anticipation of 10 o’clock.  Obviously, the more stressed out I get, the better?  Really?

Anyway, for the last week, I wake up and beg for the grace to make it through that horrible time.  God has been merciful and has sent distractions and visitors each day to help me out.

Today I’m here so today it’s you.

Just so ya know.