Before 9am this morning, I was praying loudly, and with much feeling.

It was all everyday tensions, first-world problems, frustrations borne of blessings (the clingy child, the not-working internet), but I felt defeated before the day began.

I told God I needed strength to get through this, that the feelings and frustration were overwhelming me, that I couldn’t take another moment. I yelled at God like a passive-aggressive Momma, “God?! A little HELP, here?!”

Eventually, the child went to sleep, and eventually, after several rounds of text-the-husband-who’s-online-chatting-with-the-tech-support-from-work, the internet started working, too.

I got some work done, I changed the child-proof locks in the kitchen to more complicated locks (the original set apparently having an 18-month-old effectiveness expiration on them…), I even cleaned off my desk and finished a letter to a friend.

Then, the magic began:

He awoke and we had a picnic. When I took a bite of my sandwich, he grabbed the other half like it belonged to him and mimicked me.

We made a mess of the small appliances drawer and stacked towers of food processor and blender parts.

We watered the beds outside and got soaked in the sprinkler.

He insisted on helping with the dishes, and then picked up a piece of trash on the floor and threw it away.

Lest anyone think that God has lifted me into an alternate, perfection-reality this afternoon, Charles has just started screaming — as if it is a song — in the kitchen.