Born To Do This

Today will be in the mid 60s so I can get myself outside and work through some personal frustrations.

Big Jose suprised his wife, Carolina, with a ring yesterday along with roses and chocolates. He wrote and sang her a song as well, bringing me also flowers and chocolates which had the Bubbas crawling all over me like it was fish bait or something. A fragrance such as chocolate is as alluring as flypaper to my young sons.

Fabian snapped last night, constantly oppositional and disruptive until I whirled on him, fed up, and rudely asked him to shut up. He'd interrupted adults for the one hundredth time as I was explaining a recent phone call to Carolina. He went to his room at suppertime to sleep and I've not seen him since. Yes, of course I've checked on him and am hoping for an apology and an emotional turnaround this morning.

So behind on laundry, struggling in a couple of other areas with my children, yet keeping and working through some motivational thoughts and ideas in my brain, wrangling and imaginary horse roping it seems, as the positive words twist themselves free, I'm simply believing that the good will always prevail.

My Sunday School teacher, Martha, had recently told me, "You were born to do this," in reference to a book she'd read or a speaker she'd heard, I've forgotten exactly, but it was those specific words I needed to hear and have echoing in my cavernous head