Monday, November 21, 2011


My voicemail is full.  It always is.  I go through it and then it just fills right back up.  Email, too.  So many things to do.  I just can't answer the phone before I've had some coffee and I'm so distracted these days even the shortest conversation can derail me.  Its creeping up on holiday time and I'm trying to get into it.  But with a Christmas ballet demanding lots of time and energy and commitment, registration for the new semester at the homeschool co op looming and regular life piling up, it can seem that these days are just overflowing, one into the next.  How to fit in meaningful celebrations with the kids when I'm dashing from room to room, sewing this, writing that, answering this phone call or folding that load of laundry?

It comes to me, as most things do, when I look at the children in my home.  Today they were coloring Thanksgiving pictures and chatting about gratitude.  "I'm thankful that Mom reads 'Betsy Tacy' to us."  Its the four year old who said it to her older sister, who nodded - yes, a good one.  I gulp back the memory of the night before, me saying "No."  Too late, too tired, too much.  I sent their sad hearts to bed without a story, yet they give thanks for the times I say yes.  A dart to my heart, those girls.

As much as I try to insulate myself against the rush and tumble of the outside world's holiday season, somehow it manages to sneak through and I feel  - rushed. Manic.  Desperate.  Yes, I forget that there are no emergencies, no, not even at the holidays.  We'll make it through even if I stop my scrubbing mid stroke and settle little ones on my knee for just one more story.  I'm praying I'll find peace, that I can slow and realize that  what makes these moments special is not how many this frazzled mom packs in, but that she can take time to stop and be thankful for what has been given.  And what has been giving is everything I ever wanted.

So today I'm pausing, taking the time to just still a moment, listen to the gratitude in each little heart here and marvel.  If I wait for perfection to be thankful, my heart will turn to stone in the waiting.   So, for the wildly imperfect, I am eternally grateful.
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  1. the wildly imperfect.

    Perfectly put.

  2. The feeling of being overwhelmed just goes with motherhood, does it not? I really appreciate this post. I needed to hear it. Thank you so much for putting the thoughts of so many into words. They help me accept where I am but strive to be better.


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