Is He Messing With Me?

Yesterday evening, my task was to serve everyone dinner, make sure chores got done, and get myself ready to go to my friend Pat's Rosary. Rick was working so I was flying solo. He would be arriving home mere moments before I had to leave, so things needed to happen smoothly.

Over the course of the late afternoon, I found myself getting increasingly frustrated with the kids; they weren't listening to me at all. Chores were...a chore to get done. I was reminding and cajoling and threatening. They were giggling, screaming, and avoiding me.

By the time I served them dinner, I was also dishing out quite a rampage of disapproval over their behavior. I huffed off to the shower after pretty much reading them the riot act and making it clear that my grumpiness was entirely their fault.

After my shower, after I was dressed in "church clothes" and nearly ready to walk out the door, I was standing at the bathroom mirror, doing my hair and issuing final orders for everyone's good behavior while I was gone.

My ten year old son stood in the hallway looking at me for a minute and said: "You look too pretty to be grumpy."

Maybe it really is better to look good than to feel good.

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