Sunday Mornings.

I believe the devil is especially devilish on Sunday mornings. Here is the basis for my belief regarding that statement:

Saturday, 11:42pm: With a head pounding from maybe the worst headache of my life I go to bed, believing and praying it will be gone when I wake up.

Sunday, 6:47am: Grant is crying. I stand up and nearly fall over because the pain on the left side of my head hurts so bad. I make a bottle, marvel at how messy my kitchen is, and pray that Grant will go back to sleep.

7:30am: Grant is awake again and this time for good. His morning present to me is a poopy diaper that has escaped the confines of his diaper and made a pleasant morning mess.

7:35am: My head still pounding, all I hear is, "I'm hungry mom. I said I'm hungry. Mom. M-O-M, mom I'm hungry." My response to these demands does not make me the proverbs woman. For sure.

8:00am - Despite a massive dose of tylenol and a muscle relaxer miracle drug, my headache persists. grant is unusually fussy. Falling on the ground sobbing for no apparent reason. Finally, I lay curled up in a ball on the floor while the boys watch Curious George and Grant uses me as a jungle gym.

8:30am: Now I'm sick to my stomach. probably from the medicine on an empty stomach. I try to force down some toast, and I drink my coffee as if it's nectar from the very trees of Eden. My head still hurts, grant still cries and now Mason is complaining about being "soooo bored!"

9am - 10am: I really don't know what happened during this time frame. I remember laying on the couch while grant and mason "shared" (code for fought) over the magnadoodle. Somewhere in there they also dragged out about four blankets from their rooms only to fight over them. Grant would break into "im being picked on" sobs. Mason would claim, "i didn't do anything."

10am: I plop grant in the bath tub, head pounding as I lean over to try to wash his hair without getting water in his ears. He fights it. he wiggles. he cries. I'm pretty certain he's not that clean as a result of that bath. While he's bathing I look at myself in the mirror. It's not good. I wash my face, almost crying from the pain of the blood rushing to my head as I bent over the sink.

10:15: I fish Grant out of the tub. He sobs...again. I put him in a garage sale sweater, and a diaper. Where are his jeans?

10:20 - I call Mason in from raking leaves. He's got a cut on his hand, but doesn't seem too bothered. UNTIL he realizes it will get wet in the tub. Tears begin.

10:25 - mason, still crying will not submerse his hand in the water. my head throbbing at every movement, I begin to wash his hair. Soap gets in his eyes. The tears combine with frantic arm flailing and foot stomping. With about as much sympathy as i could muster, I toss him a dry towell after I dump the last cup of rinse water on his head.

10:35 - Grant is still pantless, and crying sporadically. I am still wearing my blue tee shirt, purple and pink plaid knee high socks, and a robe.My hair is unbrushed, but my face is washed. mason is now shivering like he's in the dang arctic circle and is getting dressed at a turtles pace.

10:40 - the muscle relaxer, while it hasn't helped the headache has kind of dulled me to the rest of the world. I'm unaware of the need to rush because church starts in 20 minutes. Mason is finally dressed, but still whining about his hand.

10:45 - My make up is on. That's the best way to describe it - on.

10:47 - Before applying a band-aid to mason's cut, I discover that it's a splinter. A big, long deep splinter. Troy is summoned.

10:50 -Screams of pain and anguish are heard from the bathroom as the splinter removal process begins.

10:53 - I finally have clothes on. But I can't find my left black heel.

10:54 - I make my way to the sounds of torture coming from the bathroom. Troy has tweezers, nail clippers, and safety pin. Mason acts as if he's about to undergo amputation.

10:55 : In an attempt to distract mason from the Splinter extraction, I try to get him to count to 100...He does so, accenting certain numbers with screams of Terror at what's happening to his hand. Troy, Mason, and I are all on the bathroom floor. Grant shows up. Terrified by the apparent pain we are causing his brother, he immediately breaks into heart-wrenching sobs and collapses in a dramatic heap on the floor.

11:05 - Operation Splinter Removal continues. Spelling words are being called out, questions about JAM are asked, words are put into Grant's mouth - "it's okay bubba! I love you bubba. Don't cry bubba" in an attempt to calm Mason. Mason still shakes with sobs. Grant is still in the midst of a heartbroken fit in my lap.

11:10: After having to quite literally cut the splinter out of Mason's hand, we leave the bathroom.

11:12 - I have one black shoe. Mason has one brown shoe. Grant has no pants. Church started 12 minutes ago.

11:20 - We're in the car. Grant is asleep immediately but wearing Jeans. Mason's hand has been bandaged and he's wearing tennies with lime green accents with brown pants and a nice sweater. I am wearing the same flats I wear every day and I'm thankful I have gum in my purse since I don't recall brushing my teeth.

11:25 - We made it to church.

I'm telling you -unusually devilish on Sunday mornings.