What I Already Have

     It was 9 am and breakfast wasn't on the table, even though we had been up since 8, only one of the children was dressed, the dishes weren't done, the crock pot, that was supposed to already be making dinner, wasn't even out of the cabinet, not to mention the thousands of other things that I "needed" to get done. I was "calm", in that you can feel the pressure building, kind of way. Didn't these kids understand that I had lists, and mental pictures, and bullet points and info-graphs for the day, all in my head, and this was not on a single one of them. The little one was screaming to be held, following me through the house wailing and hitting her brother while I was trying to put him in time out, time and again, for fussing, throwing fits, kicking and/or throwing things.
     My oldest child was whining about every option I was giving him and pushing every button he knew with his words, and with every tilt of his little head, and with every shrug of his insolent shoulders.
     Push, push, push.
     My youngest's cries were getting more shrill and the pauses fewer and further between. And when she paused it was to push or hit or grab.
     Push, push, push.
     I was holding it together. Why were things not getting better? I was making all the right motions. I was saying all the right things in my "calm" voice. Why was everything getting worse and worse? Deep breaths. I told myself. Deep breaths. 
     It finally came down to the breaking point. I put the big one back in time out, again, for kicking at a chair, again, and was taking the little on to bed for a nap. That had to be the problem. They were just too tired.
     As I tried to put her down in her crib her screams multiplied and reached whole new decibels. I could hear the rattle of the door down the hall as her brother sought escape from his prison. She was never going to sleep in all this. I scooped her up...

      ...and as her beautifully delicate little hands, and wonderfully chubby little arms wound tightly around my neck her cries just stopped. I could feel her clinging to me as if I was the only thing in her world, her face was pressed so close to mine that I could feel her little eyelashes flutter and hear her breathing go from a slight sob to deep, calm, long breaths. A contentment settled over her that is unique to a small child in the arms of the one she loves most.
     As I stood there, holding my beautiful little girl, taking in that most precious of moments, something in me just broke and I began to cry. I cried for the joy of being in those precious arms. I cried for the fear that was always hovering in the back of my mind that I'm not doing it right. I cried for the tiredness that clung to every inch of my body from staying up to late to try to "get one last thing done". I cried for joy that the Lord had given me these precious souls to care for every day. And I cried in sorrow for my terrible blindness to that amazing gift.
     With each tear the tension, anger, frustration, all those pent up feelings, just fell away and all the love and compassion and joy from the little soul in my arms filled every corner of my newly opened soul.
     I was still tired, and afraid. There were still a million things, and four minutes of time out, to get done, but my heart had found an amazing peace.
     I softly, in a voice filled with my new peace, asked my sweet child if she was ready to go to sleep. She calmly laid down in her bed, without a moments protest, let me cover her with her blanket, and was asleep before I even got down the hallway.
     As I opened the door to my precious boys room he looked at me with his big, beautiful, and all to observant eyes, and asked about his breakfast. In that humbling moment I knew that all was forgiven, I was his mama, his source for all that he needed and that I was enough even on days like this. He had no list for me to measure up to, no picture in his head of how the day should go, no info-graph about my behavior. He just stood there, accepting me, accepting all I had to offer and it was enough.
     If I told my children thank you they wouldn't understand why, they were just being themselves, but because of them maybe today I will spend a little more time just being something a little more like myself. I get these ideals built up in my head that can become so consuming, but when I see them through the eyes of my kids... they pale in comparison to what I already have.