I wake up everyday with the best of intentions.  In my heart, I know that I am impatient.  I know that I need to be better about having more patience with the girls, espceially because they’re young. I keep going back to that old adage about how the days and long, but the years are fast.  Soon, very soon, the things that make me want to gouge out my eyes with a spoon will be the very things that I want to come back to when I’m in my twilight years and a certified (and possibly certifiable) empty nester. Of course, I hope to be living in the south of France by then, so I might be all “C’est la vie!”

I kid.

I’ve been thinking about this, because it all goes from sugar to shit so quickly.   I suppose it’s all subjective;  I mean, my shit and your shit could be two totally different things.  My shit might be your sugar or your shit might be my sugar.  Or the whole thing could be one sugar covered shit or a shit covered sugar shake.

Sorry. . .I lost focus for a minute.  Got caught up in the sugary shitty sugar shit.

I like the word shit.

Sorry. .  I did it again.

In order to gain some perspective and to take a step back when things start bubbling to a boil,  I’ve started praying.  Yes, it’s come to that. Used to be that I would pray when faced with some kind of Herculean type challenge.  And I would wait until the end end of the day, right before I would go to bed to phone in my request.

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I guess I got it ingrained in me that the only time you could pray was on your knees at the bedside.
Somehow, over the course of this parenting journey, I’ve come to realize, any time is a good time for prayer. 

I picked up Ann Lamott’s book “Help, Thanks, Wow” a few weeks ago.  I’ll admit, I didn’t read the whole thing; life got in the way, but the chapter and a half that I did read? Well, now, I can tell you about that.  Lamott says that she prays many times a day, and my first thought was “How?”  I was still hung up on the whole “Now I lay me down to sleep,” type of prayer schedule.  As I continued to read, however,  my take away was that any time is the right time for prayer.  And it doesn’t have to be all elaborate and right out of the BCP (Book of Common Prayer), though sometimes, I find myself saying the prayer of Confession as easily as my own name.    No flowery language needed. No haths, thous, wilsts, and so forth.   Toss out a help me make it through this day. Help me my friends with the battles they’re fighting and keep their feet on the path. Help me to keep what is most important in the forefront.  Just cough up a thanks for another day. Thanks for that last breath.  And Wow.  Just wow at this world in which we live. Wow at my family, they’re amazing and they’re mine.  Wow, another day of life and health.

That’s it. Help. Thanks. Wow.

So, when things are going from sweet to sour, I’m trying to stop and offer up a seven second prayer of Help, Thanks and Wow.  Help me be a better friend, a better wife and a better mother.  Thanks for my kids, because even though I need Your help in keeping a cool head, I know that they’re a blessing.  Wow, at how amazing my kids are, because not only are they negotiating a later bedtime, they have some pretty compelling arguments.

And when I’m too proud to ask for help (and we all know that pride comes before the fall), when the last thing I want to do is give thanks, and when the only time I saw “Wow” is when it preceded, “I can’t believe this shit,”  I’m turning to this prayer by Thomas Merton (original post here).