Routine

I thought I liked routine.

Wash on Monday,
Iron on Tuesday,
Bake on Wednesday,
Brew on Thursday,
Churn on Friday,
Mend on Saturday,
Go to meeting on Sunday.

I know all about Flylady. I grocery shop every Friday morning. I'm telling you. I thought I liked routine.

And, then I gave birth.

To the most wonderful little boy alive. And the most challenging.

He keeps me on my toes, that one. He stretches me. He makes me look past myself.

And he loves routine.

Yesterday, we spent the day running outside at his Honey's house. Great fun. He fell asleep in the car while delivering a treat to his aunt's house. We dropped Honey off at home, and he didn't say good-bye.

He woke halfway home and cried the entire rest of the way home. Over thirty minutes of crying, whining, and protesting.

Lord, help me.

Today, he is choosing to remind me that he only had a 45 minute nap yesterday. And, how is that sweet little boy doing that?

By refusing to take a nap today. Now, how does that make sense?

I'll tell you. It doesn't. Not a lick.

My grandma used to say that everyone was going to send her to the nut house.

I hope they have clean sheets when I get there.