January is drawing to a close (much to my excitement for entirely personal and positive reasons), and I'm transitioning into my new reality after saying goodbye to my mom so that I can figure out how to parent these four kids with a little less help. So far, flying solo has been sleepless but satisfying. It's nice to feel back to my old self…at least somewhat.
I rested while Mom was here. And when I say "rest," I mean that I was a permanent fixture on the couch or bed and watched an obscene amount of dumb movies while Mom cooked and cleaned and took care of pretty much everything. I needed that. Well, not the dumb movies, but the resting. But along with that came a certain amount of apprehension about how I would handle things once Mom left.
Would the floor gradually be lost under a carpet of pet hair? Would the boys ever get out of their pajamas? Would the dog double in weight from never being walked? And, most importantly, would I ever sleep again? (Incidentally, "no", to the last one, and "who really cares" to all the other ones.)
At the same time as my internal freak out, the Man and I were discussing our choice for our family's word of the year. I was thinking of something along the lines of "peace" (wishful thinking with four kids, right?) or "hope" (which I thought was general enough that I wouldn't get into too much trouble), but he suggested "courage". Internally, I thought it was a really manly choice, and I wasn't quite sure how I fit into it (being such a girly girl, as you all know<--this is sarcasm), but I said I'd think about it, and I did.
Anyway, as Mom's departure date grew closer, and I heard more and more "you've got your hands full" jokes and was asked repeatedly who I was going to have helping me once she left, I realized that subconsciously my word had become "survive". As in: I just have to survive until the Man gets home or I just have to survive today or I just have to survive the twins screaming blue murder while Tiny throws a tantrum about something incomprehensible and Littles sings lustily at the top of his lungs (which somehow reminds me of Nero playing the fiddle while Rome burns to the ground). I just had to survive.
And I didn't like that.
No one wants their word for the year to be "survive".
And that's when I realized the wisdom of my husband's word choice. Because what I needed wasn't the ability to just survive, but the courage to wake up every morning (and multiple times during the night) and say yes to Christ and no to self. I needed the courage to face every day, the countless demands of my children, the midnight feedings, the endless dirty diapers. I needed the courage to make something beautiful in the day to day instead of just slogging through.
So. Here's to 2014. The year of courage.
I rested while Mom was here. And when I say "rest," I mean that I was a permanent fixture on the couch or bed and watched an obscene amount of dumb movies while Mom cooked and cleaned and took care of pretty much everything. I needed that. Well, not the dumb movies, but the resting. But along with that came a certain amount of apprehension about how I would handle things once Mom left.
Would the floor gradually be lost under a carpet of pet hair? Would the boys ever get out of their pajamas? Would the dog double in weight from never being walked? And, most importantly, would I ever sleep again? (Incidentally, "no", to the last one, and "who really cares" to all the other ones.)
At the same time as my internal freak out, the Man and I were discussing our choice for our family's word of the year. I was thinking of something along the lines of "peace" (wishful thinking with four kids, right?) or "hope" (which I thought was general enough that I wouldn't get into too much trouble), but he suggested "courage". Internally, I thought it was a really manly choice, and I wasn't quite sure how I fit into it (being such a girly girl, as you all know<--this is sarcasm), but I said I'd think about it, and I did.
Anyway, as Mom's departure date grew closer, and I heard more and more "you've got your hands full" jokes and was asked repeatedly who I was going to have helping me once she left, I realized that subconsciously my word had become "survive". As in: I just have to survive until the Man gets home or I just have to survive today or I just have to survive the twins screaming blue murder while Tiny throws a tantrum about something incomprehensible and Littles sings lustily at the top of his lungs (which somehow reminds me of Nero playing the fiddle while Rome burns to the ground). I just had to survive.
And I didn't like that.
No one wants their word for the year to be "survive".
And that's when I realized the wisdom of my husband's word choice. Because what I needed wasn't the ability to just survive, but the courage to wake up every morning (and multiple times during the night) and say yes to Christ and no to self. I needed the courage to face every day, the countless demands of my children, the midnight feedings, the endless dirty diapers. I needed the courage to make something beautiful in the day to day instead of just slogging through.
So. Here's to 2014. The year of courage.
