Yellow Tray Toe

Yesterday was Sunday, and I suppose that it ought to have been very tranquil.  However, I found myself unfortunately far from being tranquil right as we were about to leave for church. 

We were running late, as usual, but only by a tiny bit.  It takes us maybe two minutes to drive to church, so I had high hopes that we wouldn't miss very much.  Everyone was dressed and ready to go, but we developed one significant problem: we could not find Malachi's shoes. 

We looked high and low, inside and outside, in the house and in the van, and there was not one pair of shoes to be found.  We found shoes that were too small for him, and we found one shoe out of a pair that weren't too small.  But of the three pairs he has right now that fit him well; his sandals, his sneakers and his "blue suede shoes"; they were nowhere to be found.  I found myself growing angrier as the minutes ticked by us.  It was clear we would not be finding his shoes in time.  He would have to go barefoot. 

Aaron was making one last round upstairs when my anger got the better of me and I kicked a plastic yellow kid tray that was on the floor.  I kicked it hard.  I kicked it wearing flip flops.  Flip flops are not made for kicking plastic trays across the room, and therefore, this foolish action resulted in tearing part of my toenail.  It didn't come off, but it was definitely bleeding.  I just have to add here, that if anyone thinks that having a nail break isn't that bad, I submit to you that in some places they torture people by ripping off their fingernails, and there are times when breaking a nail isn't too much different.  This, of course, just made me more upset. 

I was angry that were late, I was mad at myself for being stupid and ripping my toenail, and I was not too happy with Malachi for losing his shoes.  I really wanted to go to Zoe's, which is our church's off site campus/coffee shop, but by the time we gave up the search for the shoes, it was a good fifteen minutes after church had started, and I was very depressed.  Fortunately, the main church starts fifteen minutes later and is even closer to our house than Zoe's.  I ought to have been happy about that, but at the time, of course, I wasn't.  Aaron suggested going there, and I grudgingly agreed.

Once we got there and got all the children put in their respective classes, I felt myself settling down some.  Drinking three cups of water and admitting my tray-kicking folly to Aaron also helped my anger to subside, and I had to laugh at myself. 

I find it very ironic that as a mother I am always trying to get my boys to control their temper, and then I go and kick a tray because I can't find shoes.  I guess I'm not as grown-up as I might have thought.  I probably should have given myself a time-out.