Grateful Friday

Yesterday was a phenomenally, almost comically, bad day.

Seriously.

Some of my students got in a fistfight outside before the bell rang and we were off and running.

After a week of less than sleeping enough, my patience was thin.  My grammar lesson dive bombed.  It happens.  You think something will work and then it really.  Doesn't.

There were shenanigans in the bathroom after lunch recess when all the boys were in there and I was the one in the hall, yelling over their yelling for them to come out and get back to class.  They all insist it wasn't them but I can recognize their voices, the little turkeys.

We gave a fractions test (which I thought would go well!) in an online version because we want to prepare them a little for the platform of their online end of year testing.  None of our students did well (even though we know they get fractions better than that) and we commiserated together after school and tried to figure out how to reteach/ make the testing platform more accessible.

Then I was laminating and wrecked what I was laminating and the laminator.

Kate told me to go home and have a bubble bath.

Except I had a dentist appointment.

My appointment went long because he saw something on my x ray that resulted in a CT scan.  My body has decided to destroy one of my teeth from the inside.  He said it was "perfect" on the outside, but now I need a root canal.  I may lose the tooth and need an implant, but he's trying the root canal first.

Because my appointment went long, I missed my window of opportunity to see Mark (we were going to take him dinner).  Adam took him dinner and I talked to my dentist (who is also in my ward and a good guy and didn't mind when I kept saying, "But what would YOU do?" when he was telling me three possible treatment options).

I hurried home, cursing the slow drivers in front of me because I had ministering interviews and I was running late.  The interviews finally wrapped up and I ate the dinner Adam prepared for me at 8:30.

And Mark got home early!

I crawled under the covers and Adam read to me.  Mark came and lay in between us.  I looked into his beautiful root beer colored eyes and told him he was a handsome boy.

He said thank you and I said, "No, I was complimenting myself.  I made you."

He said, "Oh.  OK."

(Mark has root beer colored eyes, Emma's are more like milk duds and Braeden's are the gray green brown of river rocks.  My magnum opus trifecta.)

I wrapped my arms around Mark.  Even though he is bigger than me, that's easier to do than when he was little because he's way less wiggly than he used to be.  

Adam said it was maternal therapy, me hugging Mark.  

And it was. 

After a long and trying day, maternal therapy is what I needed.  And Adam.  I'm grateful he picks up all the pieces and puts them back together.  Always.