Presidents and Prophets

Yesterday was not a very good day for me. The night before, Clint and I had stayed up way too late watching a movie (Lonesome Dove is one of the all-time best ever Westerns), so when Brennen woke me up at 7, as usual, I was far from ready to start my day. I must be getting old, because I remember many a short night in my dating years, but I can't seem to handle it anymore. Suffice it to say that with too few hours of sleep under my belt, I woke up grumpy, and it only went downhill throughout the day. Tayson and I butted heads more often than usual, but in retrospect, he wasn't really being naughty. Well, no more than usual, anyway. I, however, just didn't have the patience that is required to live with a three-year-old. Shame on me.
As I was preparing dinner, Tayson was playing Shark, and was 'swimming' around the kitchen floor in an attempt to bite my leg off (he was recently introduced to Finding Nemo). I could feel my frustration level approaching breaking point, so I dumped out his piggy bank on the coffee table and told him to put all his coins back through the slot. I figured that would keep him busy for a while, anyway, and maybe I could get some dinner prepared.
Tayson threw himself into the task I had given him, and started to tell me whose face was on the coins. As held up a quarter, "Look, Mommy, it's George Washtington!" As he held up a penny, "Look, Mommy, it's Abram Lincoln!"
As he held up a nickel, "Look, Mommy, it's Joseph Smith!"
At that comment, all my frustrations seemed to melt away, and I doubled over, laughing. What is it about our own children that makes us want to lock them outside and throw away the key one minute, and squeeze them and hug and kiss them the next? Nobody else in the world has such power to make me so mad, or make me so happy. Well, except my husband. ;>
On a side note, a family in our stake lost their six-month-old baby last week to SIDS. Such events only serve to remind me of how lucky I am to have two beautiful, healthy, and - yes - delightful children that I love dearly. The thought of anything bad happening to either of them terrifies me to the point that i don't want to let them out of my sight. It often seems that the pre-school age is such a patience-trying age, but I know that one day in the future, I'm going to think back on these days fondly, and wish to have them back.