It’s the end of Mothers day, and as I crawl back into bed, untangle the sheets and sort the pillows, I get a shuddering feeling. Surely it was just 10 seconds ago that I got “the wake up.” The coffee in bed, three eager monkeys, clumsily scurrying their pointy parts across all of the sleepy muscles of this groggy bear who hasn’t yet opened more than one eye simultaneously.
I was treated to some cards – some clearly picked out by the kids for their lighting and noise effects – and some picked out by daddy for their inside joke-ness. A presentation from my oldest with a handmade paper stage along with custom “my singing monsters” colored and cut out for each member of our family. She, of course, the most colorful and elaborate. I was delighted that, in the sense of art psychology, I was bigger than daddy.
My husband played through two of my childrens’ first birthday videos which become more special with each passing year as I match the wonder of my memories with the twinkle and awe of self-discovery in their eyes.
We went to church.
We dropped a card for Mimi.
We chased a swing for my front porch that no longer exists.
We had a lovely meal with family.
And now, here I sit pulling the covers over me again to rest for another cycle. It doesn’t seem fair.
How is it that the days get faster and busier, while the memories get blurrier and time gets more slippery? Why is it that sometimes I feel like I’ve tried to drink in the most precious and mundane of moments, but I feel like in the hurry of it all, I’ve misplaced the mug somewhere silly – like an upstairs closet. Why is it that my mind and my spirit can no longer keep up with all of the wonder and so often get trampled by frustration.
And then I remember… be grateful. Grateful for three children that live with everything they have, even when they end up borrowing everything I have. Be grateful that each passing day isn’t a measure of how much I am or am not, but whether or not I show up and the heart I show up with. Be grateful that even when I am not enough, I have a faith that is.
I stare at the clock and wonder how it’s already past 10 0’clock and listen to my husband protest that it’s time for me to get my sleep so that I can be enough all the way through tomorrow’s ride.
So that when I pull the covers up tomorrow, I can be grateful again.