The Most Infuriating Boy in the World

He has thrown no less than three thousand fits today. None over "fit-worthy" issues, which in a mid-morning discussion we agreed to be things like when your arm has been sliced off or when a dinosaur has taken a bite out of your house or when you fall into deep water (the last was his contribution). 

His face went from reasonable to filthy-is-an-understatement in less than 30 minutes, and church starts in less than an hour. "You know why my face is so dirty, Mom? It's because it's covered in boogers." Oh, joy. 

He and his sister (whom I'm foolishly reluctant to awaken, less than an hour before church) will both expect, yes, need, nourishment soon, and I've got nothin. He will still throw a fit over it, whatever I manage to conjure up with my usual breathtaking momma magic. 

He is the Most Infuriating Boy in the World.

But suddenly I don't mind it all so much. It's largely the amazing grace of the Lord for me - but also the unexpected, miraculous, totally irrational joy of watching him race around barefoot on the front lawn, digging up snails to sort them by size, and wearing a grin the size of Texas on that nasty, nasty face of his. 

And also, I love him to pieces. Even in those moments when, well, you know...