Mud Soup

Lyla spent most of Tuesday whining and yelling at me.
She was sick.
So was I.

It was hard to remain on the effective side of parenting.  I admit, most of the day I failed, employing such strategies as reasoning with my two-year-old, bargaining with my five-year-old, and lecturing my twelve-year-old.
Ug.

It was 5:30pm when the kids started playing The Hungry Games.  I looked at the kitchen.  Then, the couch. Then, I looked at the kitchen again.  And chose the couch.
I then resorted to even more effectiveness by waving my non-magical fingers in the air and asking the kitchen to make dinner.

Somewhere in Lyla's two-year-old mind, she must have rolled her eyes at my pathetic take on reality and took her resourcefulness outside to make mud soup.

The organic variety.

That was the low point of my day.  I knew I could find renewal in the scriptures so with one eye on the backyard soup kitchen, I opened up to where I last read in the Book of Mormon.
And, no kidding, THIS was where I left off the night before-

For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the (child) of her womb?  Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee...  

1 Nephi 21:15

I laughed to myself.  Really?  

My attention turned to the apparently forgotten child in the backyard.  She was stirring dandelions around in the mud with a big stick.

I smiled.  Really.

I had gone to the scriptures seeking comfort and strength.  I found humor.  Which was exactly what I needed.

A refreshing ten minutes later, I was finally standing in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The backdoor opened and in walked Lyla.  Muddy boots.  Muddy hands.  And a face smudged with dirt.  Instead of the exasperated look I may have given her earlier, I smiled, grabbed a wet wipe, and began tenderly wiping away the dirt.

It's good to smile.