A Day in the Life

I Just Love You…

Today by some unexplainably wonderful turn of events, my two year old began calling me ‘Mama Bear’ which sounds more like mama beew. And my four year old will be turning five soon, and has been flexing his proverbial muscles trying to show us who’s boss. My six year old freshly turned seven is budding socially and affirming her position in the family as the resident “sweetheart”. Then there’s my nine year old, who I will be holding for the last time tonight. Tomorrow, she will be ten. If I am being honest, and I am. I feel a sense of grief. Don’t get me wrong, I’m blessed, I’ve got a good life, but what I don’t have anymore is a nine year old. I blinked, quite by accident, and she’s gone. Six year old, seven year old, eight year old M. Gone. Nine year old M…gone. And what I have here before me is a lanky, articulate, intense 10 year old, who just wants to sit on my lap tonight.
If I have learned anything it’s this. Life is short. As the Bible reads “All men are like grass. All their glory like the fields, the grass withers and the flowers fall.”
I may not have those sweet fat legged babies anymore, but I have now. Right now. I have another moment, another glimpse, another fit of laughter, another walk in the sunset.
Because I have now, I must make the most of it. I must breath deeply and take it all in. That means there are days that I do not turn on a single screen. Hours of my day when social media is a distant memory. Moments however intense, I grab a member of my tribe and say “I just love you.” Sometimes I do it at the height of the intensity, the meltdown, the whining, etc. After all, if I only show love when they are behaving perfectly, and not when they are not. It sends the wrong message, that my love and perhaps even God’s love is conditional. And it is not.
His love never fails.

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A Day in the Life

Simple not Super

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.

Simple.

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.

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