Brew Day - Part III

Last I left off in this not-so-magical tale of beer, my looming to-do list and the pressures of my domestic universe were quickly overtaking me, causing me much smoking of the ears, and many burstings of inner gaskets.

What came next happened as quick as lightning.

Somehow, I managed to string some coherent words together that caused my husband to find himself finishing up the bacon, feeding the baby, and making my breakfast. I mumbled something about "a few minutes" and "be right back", and stumbled to my office, closing the door behind me.

"Ok, God," I prayed, "I need your help NOW. Help me out of this Crazy Wife moment day I'm about to have!" I knew I needed to read the Bible to knock some eternal sense into me, but I wasn't sure where to start.

And then I saw it.

Just a scrap piece of paper, kickin' it on my desk, staring at me nonplussed.

I had written on it earlier in the week to remind myself of something I needed to focus on. "It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written, 'Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord.'" 1 Corinthians 1:30-31

I read it over again, and then again after that. My thoughts were beginning to regroup, my focus was beginning to sharpen. I read it yet again.

Suddenly, my door opened. "Hey, everything ok?" asked Aaron. "No," I replied, "For some reason I'm in a really bad mood."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"I don't know, but I need to get out of it. Just give me a couple minutes."
He looked at me like uh, okay, but he humored me and closed the door to let me have my time.

I dove back into the Bible verse. Suddenly I was facing the mirror. Egad, who is that ugly chick? Oh, it's me. I really hate when God's Word does that. I mean, I like the long-term, sanctifying effects, but in the meantime, it's like ripping a particularly sticky band-aid off of a particularly hairy arm.

I was connecting the dots in my mind, or should I say the dots were being connected for me in my heart? What was my number one focus that morning? Myself. Who was going to care about the spots on the chrome? Me. Who really cared if I made--as opposed to bought--some Mother's Day cards? Moi. Who cared if I had to work on a Sunday? This girl. What cosmic, eternal effects would it have if I didn't do these things today?

None.

Then I cried for a few moments. My couple minutes were almost up. I pulled my sanctified self together and opened the office door.

To be continued...

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Brew Day - Part II

Now, where was I?

Oh yes, Brew Day (you can read all about the riveting beginnings of that fateful morn here). To quickly catch you up, things were looking grim--much like my hair--that morning, or at least my attitude was. And why shouldn't I be a Miss Crankypants? I had a high-pressure, time-sensitive morning that including cleaning the kitchen and fixing multiple breakfasts, not to mention brushing my teeth for goodness sakes. And that wasn't even including the stuff on my actual to-do list. Let's review, shall we?

- I had five of ten book cover graphics I needed to complete by Monday, and was really ticked at the prospect of playing catch up on The Lord's Day (that's Sunday to me and you). I am a Christian, after all.

- I had to make Mother's Day cards for two whole mothers.

- I had to clean the bathroom. A dirty bathroom is the bane of my hospitable existence.

- I had to go to the grocery store. Gwenivere was completely out of yogurt, for the love of humanity.

- I had to pick up the toy-strewn, furniture-toppled living room (living rooms, I've come to find out, take on the strangest configurations when there is a newly-crawling baby present).

To make matters worse, Aaron and I had our own brew/date day the previous Saturday. Aaron's mom even babysat Gwenivere all day. It was supposed to be an enjoyable day for just the two of us to have fun making beer, and for me to really "take the reins" in making it, since up until that point it had really been "our hobby" in name only. I looked at the day from a practical, wise, even self-sacrificial perspective. I got the whole day, without the baby to worry about, to conquer any cleaning project my heart desired! Joy of joys! (if you know me, you'd understand). Oh, and make beer, too. Kill two birds with one stone, right?

Well, our brew/date day ended with squeaky-clean carpets, but not such a squeaky-clean conscience. Oh yes, I made beer with Aaron, but I was only there in body, not spirit. Try as I could, my excitement for making the beer was overshadowed by removing the shadows of dirt on my carpet. By the time Gwenivere was dropped off, I was exhausted, and Aaron was a little bummed that his woman didn't show a genuine interest his favorite hobby in the entire universe. Later that evening, I admitted to him that I was wrong and promised that I would focus my entire beer-loving being on the next batch.

Ok.

But did it have to be now? When all my book covers are due in 48 hours and I need to make cards 'cause ya gotta honor your mother, right? and I can't believe the kitchen is a shambles and there's spots on the bathroom sink chrome and someone might judge me and I can't believe you want bacon, too?

I could smell smoke, but it wasn't from the bacon. It was coming from my ears. I knew what I had to do.

To be continued...

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Brew Day

This morning I did not wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

More like walked out of the wrong side of the bathroom, or pushed the wrong side of the coffee button, or flipped the wrong side of the eggs. But whatever it was, it was the wrong side of something, because it wasn't long before I was borderline livid about everything, and it was hardly 7:30 am, not near enough time for me to react badly to anything, because nothing had time to happen yet.

Today was Brew Day, the day my husband's home-brew beer club gets together to, well, brew beer. Venue: Our house. From 10 am until sunset. I could see the sideways digital eyeballs blinking at me between the 9 and the 40 on the microwave. The kitchen--soon to be brewing labratory--was still a mess from the amazing dinner I managed to whip up after doing the dishes TWO times yesterday. I could sense my hair mimicking the shape of my pillow. The baby was getting hungry. The hubby was getting hungry. And I had only managed to eek out my beautifully handwritten to-do list before having to come to terms with the above, but I knew I wouldn't get far before I stopped and read the writing on the wall.

No, make that the paper. Man, that was some nice handwriting. A little too nice. See, I've figured out myself well enough to realize that whenever my handwriting looks extra nice, it's usually because I'm trying to be exacting and controlling, and if things don't go my way perfectly, there will be a fallout of some degree. I could feel the bubbles of aggravation already flowing through my coffee-deprived veins, and I still had about 30 seconds left of sanity to deal with myself before I dealt it out, whether it was to Aaron, Gwenivere, or our brewing guests. Perhaps not in a colossal blow-up kind of way, but in a way that just puts a subtle, inexplicable cloud over that beautiful Inland Empire sunshine.

I knew my attitude could make or break the day.

To be continued, because it's 11:42 pm and I'm old...

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