I’m tired today. Bone-achy tired. I wish I could pull myself up off the couch and be vibrant and energetic–engaging in a messy art project with non-washable paints, making a few loaves of banana bread for all these expectant mommas in our lives and kissing boo boos. But I’m just beat. I’m wearing leggings for pants, yesterday’s shirt, and still haven’t put on socks. Hey, I brushed my teeth.
Mike is still working these insane hours, sometimes on weekends, sometimes through the bed-time hours, sometimes at 3:30 am. I’m working hard on establishing order in this household. There is a lot of resistance from a certain 3 year-old to the new schedule of things. Oh heaven-forbid if we eat at the dining table and not in front of the TV! And, goodness, the laundry! Oh, the laundry. I used to do 2 loads a day and pat myself on the back. 2 loads barely puts a dent in the sea of spit-up and poop. And I wont even get into Mr. 45-minute-naps.
Sometimes I feel so scared to share how I really feel. I fear the instant band-aid or the I-have-it-worse or even the judgement. Did you read Becca’s blog? She’s really struggling. Oh Becca, this is what you signed up for. Just wait until they’re teenagers. But if I’m not sharing, I’m not being real. I like being real. I don’t want you to read this and feel pity or judgment. But see it as transparency. I’m being real. Sometimes life is tough. It’s not a complaint, but speaking the truth. (If I were complaining, it’d be much more exaggerated. Like children-swinging-on-the-chandeliers exaggerated.) Mike and I are stretched so thin, and some days we are so exhausted. Last weekend we used a baby sitter to go to the bank for pete’s sake!
Now that I’ve shared how tired I am today I feel the need to share that, for the most part, we’ve been great. The Lord has greatly increased my capacity to serve my family. Most days I feel energized at slapping some peanut butter on Mike’s toast as he runs out the door to brave the snowy 2-hour commute to work. I love teaching Ambrose to take the lint off the dryer. I revel in the peaceful dinner (though it would be better to eat with Daddy–he’s not home yet for the dinner hour). Oh, and the deep pleasure when I close the kiddos door at 7:30. Another day filled with satisfaction.
This life is satisfying. Some days I just wear legging for pants and the same shirt as yesterday.