Last night, Charlie was up 3 times. She woke at 11:30pm, 3:30am, and 5:45am. At 5:45am, she wouldn't do her typical nurse for 10 minutes and go back to bed. She had several discomforts - gas, congestion, and maybe teething gums. We were up for a bit. I went back to bed around 6:30am, and was awakened by Mike leaving for work at 8:15am with a goodbye kiss. At 8:30am, Hazel was calling for me.
I stumbled into her room, where we played with puzzles, my mind still half asleep. I was remembering the dream I was deeply embedded in when I heard her calling. Hoping she wouldn't notice that I couldn't yet form complete sentences and how clumsy and slowly my hands were moving. After a while we went downstairs to get some breakfast. Hazel played and I fixed breakfast and put the much needed coffee on. Even though I make it half-caffeinated because I'm still nursing, it is an important part of my tired morning routine. I'll take whatever small amount of caffeine I can get pumping into my weary bod.
After breakfast, Hazel watched a show while I did some online Christmas shopping and checked my email. I browsed job listings for part-time social work jobs. My mind raced about how nice it has been (mostly) to be home with both kids for these past 6 months. One of the hardest jobs I've ever done, no doubt in my mind. But as much as it stretches me... I love being with the girls. And I thought about how nice it has been to be more available to travel at a moment's notice to be with my family, since Dad's first surgery on October 10th. Since he hasn't been well, and we have been clinging to each other to get through these weeks/days/moments of difficulty and to process the unknowns of the future.
I thought about dance, and how therapeutic it is for me. And how it plays no role in my life at the current moment. And how I miss it so very much. And I rack my brain about how I can get it back.
As I looked at jobs online, my thoughts drifted to our finances. And how we are just not making it on one income. We knew we wouldn't. We planned for this time. And talked about how it would be worth it for me to be home for this temporary period, and then I would look for work eventually. I've been browsing part-time listings for months. And as each month gets financially tighter, we realize it's go time. Every time I think about it my heart does flip flops in my chest. I have such mixed emotions about proceeding back into the working-outside-of-the-home world. I feel both a weighty heaviness and also some nervous excitement. So much complexity wrapped up in this "little" decision.
The struggle for the elusive balance continues.
And then Charlie wakes around 9:30am... so I get her up, change her diaper, feed her, and bring her downstairs. We play on the floor next to Hazel while she watches her show. Charlie's laughter fills my heart until it almost bursts... it shuts down my thoughts, so that my mind is no where else but with her and her happiness. It is a real light in my life... a gift, that brings me out of my swirling thoughts and into the beauty of the present.
It is around then that Hazel's foot knocks over the stool where her bowl of snacks and my beloved coffee sits. Both tumble to the floor, soaking the blanket that Charlie is playing on, the carpet, and me. In slow motion, peanuts and raisins fly through the air, landing everywhere. Momentarily, I lose it. I grumble at Hazel, asking her if she understands what she has just done and tell her to be more careful. Then, after the frustration subsides, I feel bad for not displaying more patience. I start to clean it all up and as I look at the spilled coffee and strewn snacks, I see how disgustingly dirty our floor is. It is REALLY dirty. Like living with two kids and a cat dirty. Like I need to vacuum 4 times a week but I only vacuum once a week - maybe - dirty.
And I think, wow... sometimes I'm just not good at this. I'm not good at staying home with the kids and having endless patience and taking care of the house. I'm so tired and so foggy and so scattered... so sad about my Dad and so worried about our finances and so nervous about going back to work. And I just feel so... lost. And dizzy. And guilty. And inadequate.
The opposite of grounded.
Juggling identities and responsibilities and feelings and oh, the constant stream of these pressing thoughts. What am I doing, where am I going, and how am I going to get there? A lot going on in the old noggin these days.
And then it hits me. The biggest thing I'm not doing well is this: Grace. What gives with all this meanness to myself? All the high expectations?
My family gives me grace, my friends give me grace. My God, my church, and my community give me grace. Why can't I give it to myself? I can extend it to others, but when life gets tough or confusing or sad or tedious or overwhelming and I just can't cope, I turn the blame inward. With no where else to throw my frustrations, I let myself take the bullet. I begin to self-destruct.
Grace.
Life is going to be hard sometimes. And in the hardest moments, God whispers the message that I so need to hear, so very gently in my ear....
Give yourself grace. Give yourself buckets of grace.
I imagine Him saying these words, "It's okay. You're okay. Take some space. Breathe. You are enough. You are good. I love your dirty floors and your messy heart. You will find your way through the darkness. You will find the ground. I will lead you. Be still and cast your arrows away from your gentle exterior, and into my arms. My arms are tough. I will catch them."
And so, a new day dawns and I begin again. Weary, I pray for grace. And I start by reaching my feet toward the ground.
