When I Just Don't Get It

This morning we woke up early and did some more sight words. (The hope of popcorn is an incredible motivator. Who knew?)

While we were practicing, Caed asked out of the blue. "Where do bats live?" I answered that they live in caves.

"No that's not it" he said.

"Do YOU know where they live?" I asked.

"No," he said, "I'm asking YOU."

I answered caves again. He insisted that was NOT IT. Round and round we went.

Finally, both of us now arm-flinging exasperated, he explained further.

"You're not getting it, Mom! I'm just trying to ask you what um, what state they are in, not where they have their enbiroment!"

All this time, and I was answering the wrong question.

::

This morning (yes, another morning has passed since I began this post), we were all in goofy moods. Waking up at 5 a.m. tends to make us either crazy grumpy or just crazy. This morning it was the latter.

So Dani began by singing Beyonce's All the Single Ladies. And I jumped in, changing the words to something more age appropriate:

All the tired puppies, all the tired puppies...put your paws up...(roh-roh-roh-ruh-ruh-roh-roh-roh-ra-roh).... you started to dream and now you wanna scream cuz another squirrel is chasing you...
And while Caed laughed uncontrollably, especially when I picked Calli's paws up and danced with her, Dani was NOT amused.

"You b'oke my song, Mommy! I don't YIKE YOU TO SING IT DAT WAY!"

::

This week I've managed to exasperate everyone in the family with my communication shortcomings. Even Calli is bitter with me. Apparently she doesn't like to dance on two paws, and I was supposed to know that about her. I mean, for goodness sake, we've known each other for 56 dog years, you'd think I'd GET HER by now.
So this is me. I love these people dearly, and I still don't "get it" a large majority of the time. My intentions toward my children, my husband, and even the dog, are loving and good. But I still manage to misunderstand, misspeak and miss the point in my daily interactions with them.

And this is the part of the show where Larry comes out and sings a silly song, where if I didn't believe in grace, if I hadn't already been forgiven 70 times 70, I would give up. I would say, "FINE! I'm a failure! Whatever!" and retreat into self-protective sarcasm.

But I do believe in grace. I do believe in fresh starts, in progress, in sanctification. And I have a God who "gets it", even when I don't.

So even though I am tempted to fling my arms up, to argue that they didn't ask the question right or that I was just trying to help, I know better. By the grace of God, I know better. And there is hope. Hope that one of these days I just might "get it" right.