My one hour of solitude has washed over me like the brightness of sight given to a blind man. Oh! How I long for this one hour of the day. A moment to sit, breathe, elevate something, pound a nutty bar free from the scrutinizing glares and guilt-laden pleas of a child "whose mommy doesn't share very well (pouty lip)"... You ALL know what I'm talking about. I'm not the only one who has hidden in the bathroom, consuming the last bit of crumbs from the Oreo bag, camouflaging the sound of the bag with running water. That's right. Bring forth the truth!!
It seems as though it's been ages since I've expressed my inner turmoil with the written word. My fingertips have truly missed the keyboard. 2013 has roared in like a lion. The blessing of employment for me has been such an answered prayer. But it has also taken away some precious moments that I once took for granted. I work in the evenings now. What used to be a time for Chris and I to sit and chat about each others days has turned into a hysterical dance of tag-teaming. Its almost as if we are two beaten and bloodied boxers struggling to fend off the offenses of an elite MMA fighter. I put in my hours in the ring during the day, loving my babies all along, but suffering the blows where they fall. A tattle is the equivalent of a jab. They weaken me with the relentless bickering, landing a sharp right hook. And then, with my defenses down, someone tries to finish me off with a tantrum, UPPERCUT!! As the four o'clock hour approaches, I can almost hear the engine of our 2004 Trailblazer tentatively creeping the curb, as if the driver/fighter is not entirely sure he wants to enter the ring. As Chris approaches the house, I pull my bloodied corpse to the door where we engage in the most hilarious repartee of who beat on who, who missed their nap, who pooped their pants, and what's for supper... not always in that order. A quick kiss from all parties, a quick high five for Chris and the fresh boxer enters the ring.
Yikes. I paint a bleak picture, don't I? I'm very much exaggerating in how badly beaten I leave the house. Some days it's much worse than others. However, aside from the superfluous details, doesn't it seem to be this way? Sometimes I find myself asking Chris, "Is it always going to be this hard?" I ask the question even though I know the answer. Raising small children is such a battle. Thank God we are equipped with the tools we need to handle the day in day out situations that would leave a lesser person bloodied and mangled. It's not just the time with Chris that I miss. The bubbly baths, the storybooks, the tucking in and singing songs. It all gets taken for granted. The nights I don't work, I try to remind myself of how much I miss it and to slow down and make the creases in the blankets a little tighter, the songs a little longer, and no skipping pages in the story books. I love being a Mama. No matter how exhausting, how maddening, it's such an amazing blessing. God knew what he was doing when he gave me each of my children, and He knew he wasn't giving me anything I couldn't handle. Some days I feel like God has a little more confidence in my abilities than I do, but nonetheless, He knows.
As I finish my last paragraph, I see naked little feet coming down the steps. I realize my hour of me-time is over. I am thankful to have had it, but am even more thankful for those little naked feet. DING! DING! Round 2!!!
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