In the past several weeks, I have wreaked havoc upon this unsuspecting, formerly peaceful household. I have broken to smithereens:
A pottery plate,
And something else, I vaguely recall, but I can't remember what it was now. Might have been the spoon I put through the garbage disposal last night but was able to bend back into some semblance of what it had been.
It's beginning to cross the line from embarrassment to incredulousity (which I don't think is a word... but why not just break the rules of the English language while I'm breaking everything else my hand touches?).
My responses have varied, through the mayhem, from trying to hide the shards in the garbage can (didn't work...he smelled the garlic)
...To cringing as the piece slips from my fingers and smashes on the floor,
...To being really, really shocked (Will someone please save the world from me before I destroy it!?)
...To praying that God would put the pieces back together (Yes, I did. I heard a story where that happened once but it didn't work for me. Go figure!)
...To resignation. This must just be my life right now.
Soooo humbling. There's nothing that brings you to a point of abject humility quite like a phase of breaking other peoples possessions.
Please pray it passes quickly and in the meantime I think I will go buy some bubble wrap and enshroud all valuables in it.
Oh and poor Mr. Gren. He's handling it like a trooper... other than a few wry remarks about how I have "broken" the record and have actually destroyed more things than he and Miss Elisabeth combined, the past 33 years.