If anyone could sneak a peak and see my home, as it is, at the moment, no one would accuse me of being Supermom. I’ve got the dishwasher whirring, and dishes in the sink. The washer and drying whooshing, and a big heap of clothes on the couch. Random toys strewn about littering a carpet that I may or may not have forgotten the color of. Cleaning yet never achieving clean. And somehow I feel so accomplished.
My kids didn’t spell ever word right, find the value of x, discover a cure for cancer.
Today there were meltdowns, screams, shrieks, squawks, soliloquies marked by intensity, and that’s not even the two year old. There were ominous battles that ensued over territories, and kingdoms. There were even lions, tigers and bears, oh my! Not actually bears, but there were caymans, giant owls, two snakes, a prairie dog and a fox. Oh…three snakes. I almost forgot about the black headed python.
And somehow by the grace of God, I had peace. All. Day. Long.
They made up games, they rode their bikes in circles, they colored without lines, they asked questions and discovered answers. The second most important thing I could give my kids is the freedom to be kids. Just kids.
You see, my goal in life isn’t super. Though it seems like it might be cool. My goal is simple, not super. To live a life of simplicity marked by simple trust in God. Like a little child.
He loves me. I love Him.
Not trying to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Although it would be nice to have a completely-all-at-the-same-time clean house. It would also be nice to do all of the projects I see on Pintrest, talk on the phone all day, hang out with friends, and finish my schoolwork (I am completing a degree), and be a good wife, and homeschool and…and…and. But it isn’t worth the cost of my peace. So I prioritize.
It’s not a perfect system running smoothly like a finely tuned engine. It’s more like a boat making its way down the river.
So here I sit. Writing. Rocking. Drinking in the quiet moments with my rapidly growing two year old. Listening to him breathe, feeling his still baby soft skin and yes, smelling him. And knowing full well that this moment will not last forever. And choosing to let the laundry wait. Because he will not.