We are Bad Seeds

It is quiet here on this Friday afternoon. The two older boys are napping; Lincoln is asleep in my lap. It is an idyllic spring day -- perfect sunlight, temperature, and breeze. And half the morning Brad and I were sullen, irritable, annoyed, rude with our children and slightly less openly with each other. Why? I don't know. I hate how sin just seeps its way in on the wave of moodiness or hitch-hikes with frustrated plans for a day, or just kind of sidles up to the elbow of an unstructured empty sort of day. It's so much harder to clearly/cleanly repent of a mood or disposition than a forthright verbal spar or a full-tilt loss of self-control/temper. Sin that insidious little creep -- I want to punch him in the face and twist off his ears.