Linking up with Five Minute Friday today.

The theme:

When I was a child, my dad had a brilliant way of summing up any sort of awful situation with his usual vigorous sarcasm.

He would eye me, smirk a bit, and then say,

“Well. Here we are.”

Let’s say we are fixing a water gap at the farm, * and the tractor got stuck and the mosquitoes were swarming and it’s possible there was a snake thrown in there somewhere, in the brown murky water that we were sludging through… and he would grin and say, loftily, “Well, here we are!”

It always worked. I would smirk back, and the moment, in all it’s mosquitoe-riddled yuck, would lift a bit. The snakes were still there, but they would be charmed by dad’s wit, and would smirk too… and then sidle away.

To this day, when I find myself in some sort of pickle I say it. We’re at Aldis and both children are whining for Pink Sugar Diabetic Bomb Cereal? “Well, here we are!” We’re going on a “fun” family bike ride and both boys are tired and hot and then are riding at a speed slower than our computer loading up when it has a virus (which is often)? “Well!!!! HERE WE ARE!!!!!”

Recently, when the whole poop in the bathtub situation  happened, I looked at the bathtub, then at the husband, and said, “Well, here we are.” It made it bearable. Kind of.

By the way,  if you are not updated on this lovely saga in our house, I realize no one should ever EVER have to be subjected to the words, “poop in the bathtub situation.” I am heartily sorry.

Ok, so here I am. And here we are. Friday morning. Four boys in my house. They are working on a play that involved costumes and lots of swords and now they are asking to be filmed, because this is Spielberg material, they are sure.

I am trying, desperately, to just get some work done. I have deadlines. I have a lot of them lately. I have all these things that I have said YES to and I just… need… some time to THINK.

*growl* So. Very. Frustrated.

The four boys want to make costumes. Why? They want to perform a play that ends up to be some sort of avant-garde experimental theater thing that makes my head buzz when I watch because plot? Where? I know I shouldn’t be picky, but this thing is like an Andy Warhol production. But there is a lot of bowing and clapping that has to happen.

I can’t clap, y’all. I need to type. Like, fast. And typing? That involves both hands. And my brain.

This is not one of those posts where I set my computer away, and smile, and God blesses me with this wonderful moment of peace and realization that I need to stop, slow down, savor the moment. All that.

All that is really good stuff. But this is not one of those posts.

This is here we are. Me, trying to scrabble for time to think and write. Four boys, dancing around me in lion masks with swords and something about a racoon, the Chosen One, who fights the evil Darth Turtle. Or something.

Sometimes the HERE is so frazzling it makes my brain itch.

This is my here. I have no moral of the story or how it gets all better. But I will tell you this: TELLING YOU. Just writing it DOWN and sending it out there? IT HELPS.

It HELPS. Why? Because I know, I KNOW, that someone else out there gets my HERE. You get it. In all its low patience, annoyed, gritted teeth, not-so-good mothering moment, you get my HERE.

Thank you.

I am now going to watch Part Two, where Darth Turtle tells him, “Luke, I am your father,” and there’s a lot of shouting.

Lord, well, here we are.

I need Your help. Because my here, right now, is not my best moment.

Zephaniah 3:17  The LORD your God is in your midst.

Even right here.

*Water gaps: a fence over a crik (not creek, crik) that keeps cows IN but not snakes or mud or bugs or slimy monsters that swim where you can’t see them.  Tend to only get snaggled with tree limbs and debris on the hottest days of the year. Tend to be coated in mosquitoes. Tend to be swampy and murky and awful and have their own soundtrack from Deliverance.