I'm reminded.

My dad was born in Cuba in 1960.  The same year, my mom was born in the US.  I was raised with all of the freedoms this country brings but with the perspective that we are the lucky ones.  I proudly don my Cuban roots, and this week I brushed up on a few supersti...um, traditions for the coming New Year.  They range from 12 grapes as the clock strikes midnight to burning the year's effigy in the street.  While I might actually grab the suitcases and take them for a stroll down the driveway (this will bring about "travel" in your new year), I don't think I'll be lighting a "model" of my past year's self into flames.  But these traditions brought me to a place of reflection, as I feel we all might do this week.  As my mind races through the past 12 months, my heart begs to keep the lessons.

A few months ago, I overheard our oldest boy criticizing our second oldest - "You're so GAY" was mumbled from the back seat.  My voice reflex sounded with "I don't want to hear that ever again!"  It was an immediate need for a quick family discussion as I sauteed vegetables and prepared dinner.  We called BK3 to the kitchen, and I quietly yet seriously addressed his comment made an hour earlier.  After a few minutes, with tears in both of our eyes, he admitted that he understood why that comment was not welcome.  Many people we love are "gay" and he had used that very word to bring someone down.  The realization pierced his heart, while his growth filled mine.  In 2020, I am reminded that my oldest son will love "better" from now on.

5 times this hurricane season, our city found itself inside the "cone of uncertainty."  Each time, I told myself that I'd wait til 36 hours out to make a move.  And there we'd be, 36 hours out, still in it.  The boys would ask "Mama, will there be a tornado with this one?" again and again, and we'd say the same thing.  "Boys, sleep in the living room tonight - we'll be OK."  Each storm would come and go, and this season, we were spared.  With the exception of a few trees down, last minute school closures, and continued thoughts of "what's about to happen?" we found ourselves on the grateful end.  In 2020, I am reminded that our cone of uncertainty is determined by our willingness to be prepared, our patience with what is to come (as it comes), and keeping the hope that we can handle whatever is about to be.

 I can only speak for myself on this one, however I bet some can relate.  I don't watch television.  I don't know what latest Netflix series is in everybody's home.  I don't even know how to log into Netflix.  I start my day with putting breakfast on the table for all the mouths, and I finish my day holding my eyes open over a kitchen sink as I load the dishwasher close to midnight.  If I sat down to watch a show, I'd be asleep in minutes.  Owning a business and raising 4 young children keep my to do list stacked.  So it's not a surprise that a few weeks ago my world stood still as I looked at my sons playing a round of "Around the world" outside.  They're growing into young men while I hurry to check off the next box on the list.  My list will always be there, multiplying.  These days will not.  So I threw the mental list in the trash and joined them.  In 2020, I am reminded that doing should never replace being. 

 And then there's the first two months of this year vs the ten months that followed. How dare our lives be interrupted by a virus for which we weren't equipped?  How unfair for 2020 to be written about in history books?  Doesn't the universe know we had a plan?  Doesn't God know our sights were set and secured?  We ask all of the questions.  And just like how everyone might be kicking this very year right out the door, our experiences are immeasurable.  Never had I imagined the innovation that would take place this year.  Never had I imagined the grace I would show and the grace I would receive.  Never had I imagined the creativity that would emerge as we all kept the laughs (and tears) coming!  Never had I imagined my children would follow our lead each day, marching into uncertain times.  And boy did we all march!  In the midst of our distance, we discovered the very things we had in common - resilience, trust, honesty, hope, fear, and strength.  In 2020, I am reminded of community.  

Cheers, friends!  May we never forget the walks we all took this year!

Look Both Ways

I blinked, and it's November 1.  

Settling in is still a work in progress.  We enrolled Miller in a 3 day program at our favorite little school, and he has come alive feeling like a big boy.  I'm finding these 3 days of each week to provide the much needed balance in my life - not to mention QUIET I need to focus and run a business, a family, and a house.  Did I say focus?  Because that went out the door in March.  Silly me.  Miller gets to go a full day - glorious!  I drop the big boys off at 7:25 am, wrap around Government, and head back up Florida for his 8:00 am carpool.  I pick him up at the front door of the school for 2:15 sharp, and we head to get the big boys for 2:30 and 3:00.  He always greets me at the front door with a scream as he rips off the teacher's arm to get to me.  I smile through my mask, grab his hand, and we head out.  We usually skip or hop to the curb, and since we have to cross a parking lot to get to the car, we pause.  I say "Look both ways, Mil," as I try to instill an important habit into his 2-year-old mind.  At first, he ignored me and yanked my arm without success.  But after several days and my diligence, he stops.  "No cars, Mommy" and I sigh with relief that it's working.  Baby steps - small victories - that's what we ride on these days.  

The world shut down 7 1/2 months ago, and although we beg for some realness, we are still getting slammed with the reminder that our past "real" may need a permanent transformation.  Nothing is the same.  Lysol is scarce, signs saying "Limit 1" accompany every cleaning aisle in stores, a basket of masks sits next to our book bags for school, and we hesitate before a hug, unsure of "if we can."  I have days where I am motivated to do everything I can to keep my family physically safe, while other days are filled with keeping our hearts full instead.  There are moments when I have a full on conversation with myself - two different opinions to keep in mind - all inside my one self.  I should've named this "alternate viewpoint" by now, as she is becoming more and more vocal and frankly annoying the crap out of me.  Do we feel safe? Are we making the right moves?  Is this real life? Stop complaining - things could be worse...Ok you're right - I'll stop.  Look both ways.

Maybe it's the fact that Mother Nature decides to throw us 5 hurricanes this season?  Because if you weren't sure if you washed the family mask loot or if the snacks you sent to school were covid-approved, maybe you should also think about that grocery run, gasoline, generator readiness, water stash, and tree removal because something's going to hit Louisiana on Wednesday, and right now I'm focused on bringing #2 to football practice.  Can I do that?  No?  Ok, pivot turn, let's get ready.  But did you vote? Because that's happening too.  We are resilient this year.  Some are handling this better than others, and I believe we should open our eyes and our arms.  I find myself unsuccessfully tugging the arm that's guiding me  - my attempt to move in MY direction is halting the bigger and better, while Heaven is hollering LOOK BOTH WAYS child!  I really should.

A dear friend called on Wednesday to check on us after Zeta was due to arrive, and I was grateful to report the minimal effects for our area.  I sighed and confessed how I was well aware that I should be enjoying the simple things in my life during this season, but damnit it's getting hard.  How every day one side of me is aggravated with the adjustment while the other side of me coaches with motivation and positivity.  She reminded me that there's a time for everything and every emotion.  I'm learning that God wants ALL of who we are through this.  Both ways, both sides, both sets of emotions.  The good, the bad and the ugly.  He wants me to have hope, and He understands my need to toss my hands up and say "F it!" Look both ways.  Focus on all of our areas that need Him, because He wants all of who we are.

So today- November 1.  We added an hour of time to this 2020 that everyone seems to wish away.  I added a few extra snuggles and extra minutes of one on one conversation with each boy today.  I'm adding more grace to the equation.  I'm adding more pause to take it all in.  I'm looking both ways - or maybe all the ways - and not with caution like Miller's lesson, but with a heart that is ready to experience the journey wherever that guiding hand takes me.  I'll stop tugging, because maybe I'm supposed to enjoy something I could've never imagined before.  And that's enough for me.

Miller & Grayson; sharing books & bedtime

Run Dry

 This past week was a week of firsts for us.  We left the house and went on a vacation for the first time since January.  I took a trip INSIDE Wal-Mart for the first time since the mandatory masks went into play.  As a family, we decided it was time to return to Mass.  And today the two oldest put on their school uniforms and went to school - firsts that never mattered like they do now.

It took our church a minute to jump on the virtual train for mass, but when they did, we were so grateful to turn on our device and tune in to a familiar face, a familiar voice, and a familiar place.  21 Sundays later, and I felt it was time to get out of the living room, take a leap of faith (masked) and attend in person.  I kept thinking Miller wouldn't cooperate with a mask, and my rule-following self wanted the safe route.  So we woke up early, got dressed in clothing that we hadn't seen in months, grabbed the masks, and headed out.  We were on time and able to be seated within the allowed capacity.  A family of 6 gets a whole pew to themselves right now,  y'all.  When we walked in, our instincts forced us to dip our fingers into the font of Holy Water, and my hand hit a cold porcelain.  I paused.  A reminder of the time we live in and the measures taken to get us back into the building.  The font had run dry - but had it?  

Mass was lovely.  The boys cooperated, and I only had to re position Miller's mask about 14 times.  I was alright with that, and so was he.  When it came time for communion, I knew we were in for it, but I hoped for the best.  Miller crossed his arms being led by Grayson, and they were only slightly confused that the Eucharistic Minister didn't touch their forehead in prayer...Miller held out his hand, stomping for a piece of communion, and I fumbled mine as I tried to pull down my mask AND grab him.  It hit the floor.  The immediate inner thoughts of "don't you DARE pick that up and take it in the time of Covid, no matter how Holy that thing is," I handed it back to the man who without a wink, quickly gave me a new one.  Right about then, Grayson had made his way over to the Priest for yet another blessing (cause one's not enough ya know), Briggs forgot that he HASN'T made his communion yet, and I was grabbing as many little arms as I could to hurry everyone back down the aisle and to our seat.  My patience had run dry.  We sat back down, and I knelt in the pew, head rested into my hands, and I prayed in thanksgiving for just being there.  The font was empty, the Missals were gone, but my heart was full.  

I'm not sure about you all, but we sure have grown accustomed to rolling with as many punches, while balancing two or three plates on a stick and riding a unicycle at any given time.  I find myself saying "it's fine" at any instance, and I still can't tell if that's good or bad.  Today, I pulled out a very yummy shrimp pasta frozen from my birthday dinner and thawed it out, only to find a hole in the freezer bag and a ziplock full of swimming shrimp within 20 min.  Just order pizza.  That was after Miller and Grayson broke the back door (not sure how) until it wouldn't shut correctly or lock in place, the upstairs smoke detector began that monotonous battery alert that you just can't ignore, and BK3 flooded the shower/bathroom for fun.  Miller sent his lunch spoon flying across the room so hard today that I swear it chipped the paint on my mother's kitchen wall, but I had to acknowledge how great of a left-handed side arm that was...Damn.  But not before my hand met his backside.  It's fine.  Right?

The few days leading up to today's first day of school were adventurous - "It's really happening", I kept telling myself.  GET YOUR SH*T TOGETHER!  Hair cuts, Uniforms that fit, supplies labeled - I had to sharpen 72 pencils by the way - and please for the love of God, find some lunch box food for them.  Down to my 11 pm bedtime, I was excited, nervous, and hopeful.  What do we feel these days?  Our old selves are trying so hard to come alive, but our new selves (and they ARE new) are fighting to stand a ground that we don't even know is firm.  We're afraid of the unknown, and the thought in my mind is "Hold it together, you've got 4 young boys watching your every move."  When the world stopped 5 months ago, we were hit with the realities and complained about the shifts.  But did it stop?  No - it was just getting started.  I see now that my fuel for the old had run dry, and my eyes needed to see it.  My heart knew where we were going, but schedules and patterns and repetition had gotten the best of me.  And now the "it's fine" mentality that goes with a flow that I've never known scares the mess out of me, but it also teaches me to trust a little more.  Today, I had to trust.  Do we have the answers?  Do we know if starting school in person will spread this virus like wild-fire? Do we know what this year will look like?  Next year?  5 years?  

The font hadn't run dry.  That cold porcelain was actually a reminder of what is still here.  Our faith can fill the gaps that this 'time of Covid' creates.  And perhaps "running dry" is the very thing that we need to live the life we never imagined? Maybe "running dry" is creating the trust that our old selves were too strong to include?  What else might this time teach us?  I'm learning - are you?

At the Round Table

It's day 33.

We all got to take an outing this week, because the 10 year old Goldendoodle decided to "play" with the dumb 4 year old Ridgeback - and ripped her toe nail CLEAR off.  30 min before the vet closes and we are in the parking lot.  Thankfully they fixed her up - just wish they would've helped me clean up the 87 spots of blood all over my floors.  Just another day, right?

When you think of a whole month's time staying home, it's just crazy.  Limited grocery runs - no doctor visits - no sports -  no carpool - no church - no family gatherings - no friend's house.  I've been able to sit at our round dinner table with my crew for more meals this month than in the last couple years.  That's a plus, for sure.  I think the boys are missing their buddies.  I am too.  We drove by the school and church Wednesday and waved.  And it became real to them.  There's a real space that housed all of that fun, friends, learning, teaching, recessing, assembling - and it's still there, but we are not.  And 33 days in, we feel the space that's empty.  My adrenaline has pumped for 33 days.  Each child has their own seat at a different table for distance learning while I don't own a seat anywhere in this house.  My feet carry me from one task to the next and if I stop, I cry.  One of Grayson's Pre-K teachers posted a "farewell" to the students today and this mama wasn't ready.  We still have 1 1/2 months left of learning.  He's in Pre K but he looks forward to his weekly assignments more than anyone in this house, and you know what else?  He LOVES his teachers.  He prays for them every night by name.  He tells me throughout the day how "proud" they would be that he already knows how to add numbers together or that he knows how to spell CAT.  He can't wait to get back to school, and wonders if it will be tomorrow.  And I can't explain to him that it just won't be.  Us mamas, we are not trying to fill these gaps.  We are just trying to help label the apple as RED.  There's a reason they behave for you, and not us.  Teachers - you know.  And I do too. 

Pre-Corona, we were planning a trip to Disney and it crossed our minds that our oldest would be 10 in 2021. The next words out of my mouth were "He's halfway through his childhood." - what are we doing?  What's filling my day so much that I miss the details?  What's on the agenda that causes me to choose between my children's activities?  What is on MY agenda?  I'm learning. 

Our round kitchen table was one of our first "new house" purchases in 2013.  I told Brannan that I didn't understand why we'd buy a nice piece of furniture if we were going to have a lot of children - we only had 2 at the time.  It's the first piece you see when you walk in the back door - because that's where you walk in if you belong - and it came with 4 chairs.  THERE ARE 6 OF US.  We finally bought 2 more chairs that don't match so that we could all share the space.  Not sure why we went ahead and chose to do it.  But since this pandemic is giving me time at this table, I'm grateful.  All 4 children have their "spot" at meals, and I've earned mine through these 33 days.  This is where we start our days, stop mid-way through, are greeted after school, and finish before bedtime.  This round table has been drawn on, spit on, crawled on, and prayed upon.  Our animals rest beneath it, and our hands are clasped above it.  And now I see why the round table is needed at the end of the day. 

Because a day can be A DAY.  One of the days this week - I lost track early on - the boys got into it, like boys do, and it ended with me ripping the oldest off of the second oldest.  As I silently praised myself for being strong enough to still do so, that one I just ripped off the other muttered those words - "I Hate You."  He then said he wanted to go live somewhere else, to which I offered to help him pack.  He spent the rest of that hour in his room - WITH the one I ripped him off of - as punishment, and I was told by my apple watch to "breathe."  We had hit a corner with a pretty rough edge at that point for both of us to feel.  I told them not to come back down til they were ready to apologize - the oldest assured me that'd be tomorrow, and I told him to starve.  Needless to say, we've met our matches.  Thankfully, 2 hours later, with little brothers playing downstairs and a little lego therapy, we had an apology, and the corner seemed a bit less fierce.  The circle had come back around and we were ok.  33 days. 

33 days, and I'm understanding that we have a choice to sulk or to sit.  If I sulk during this crisis, that's alright.  But if I take a seat, in my case at the round table, to experience this segment and all that it brings to me, then I'm truly doing my part.  I'm doing my part, FOR ME.  There are things for me to realize, understand, let sink in - all from which, I'll grow.  So I'll take that seat at the table with my crew - the good days and the bad of the 33 so far.  Because when it all circles back, we're here together, learning - living - loving, losing what we don't need and lifting up the hopes we have.  And maybe that's what it's all about?

A Whole Heap.

Day 21 for us.

I have felt a lot of emotions lately, and all of them are being warded off by the constant thought of "Carrie, chill out and let the healthcare teams do their job.  Do your part.  Stay home.  Stop worrying about that tickle in your throat.  Stop complaining.  Stop being upset about it.  All you have to do is sit - alter your life for a bit and let this thing do its thing."  And for the most part, it's a quick fix for me.  I take a deep breath, gather myself, and get on with the day. 

But Wednesday, I looked at my dancers through the screen and said "Ya know, this sucks."  Some started wiping away tears.  I told them, "You know, you can say it with me - this sucks."  We all sorta felt better after that.  Then we danced in our own spaces, as if we had put out into the atmosphere what everyone was feeling.  I told them that it was ok to come to terms with this new normal - to welcome the feelings that they had - and maybe it would make peace with itself.  They were listening, and so was I. 
Today is my Dad's birthday.  He would celebrate a new decade today - 60.  I haven't seen him in 18 years.  I knew him alive for 18 years - and now I've spent 18 years without him.  He always had wise words for me, and I wonder what he'd say here.  He'd smile that smile that 18 years won't take away, and he'd tell me to trust.  I taught for 6 hours today outside to an iPad screen, and I couldn't help but notice the beautiful red birds that kept coming to visit.  I believe he celebrated his day with me, and applauded me as I took a whole heap of a mess and tried to dredge forward the best way that I knew how.  And after I finished, I started to wonder if this whole heap of a mess was my turn to grow.  Yes Carrie, it is. 
We miss our family.  We miss our friends.  We miss our church.  We miss our school.  I miss my dancers.  And that's real, and that's ok.  My boys miss their buddies.  Grayson misses his Pre-K teacher.  He told me last night that if he saw her again, he would always make sure to hug her good-bye.  Briggsy asked me "Mom, when this is all over with, can we throw a big party?  I want to see everyone I love."  - Yes Briggsy, when we can, that's a great idea.  BK3 told me last week that he's excited to plan his birthday party.  He's been talking about it every day - I think he's starting to understand that the month of May might look exactly like this.  But it's his way of being hopeful, and I'm here for that too.  We are becoming more sentimental.   We are enjoying the stillness more.  We are noticing what growth is needed inside this whole heap of a mess that we see on the surface.  This whole heap that WAS on the surface.  These weeks are filled with cleaning out, trimming up, tossing out, spending less and that whole heap is getting smaller while the emotions of adjustment are getting more wild.  Let this thing do its thing.  I'm learning.  I'm here for the emotions if the whole heap continues to lessen.  I see the light at the end of our tunnel, while really, we are just "sitting" - a much bigger problem is tackled by the people who are strong enough and smart enough to handle it.  So we all take our seat on this journey.  We all rummage through the heaps.  We all feel the emotions of the last 3 weeks.  We all share our heaps and become bound by them - maybe that is what we are here to learn.  Let's take the ride together.

New Day, Same Studs

I haven't blogged in 14 months.  For days, I've been telling myself to document this.  When I logged in, I noticed it's been way too long. 

We are on day 14 of no outside contact for the boys.  I am on day 8 for myself, and B has made a few trips to grocery pickup or to get gas.  We are doing the thing.  More life has been lived in this house in the last 14 days than in the last 14 months.  And I'm learning a lot.

Right after the flood of 2016, I titled a blog entry "Down to the Studs."  I talked about our own personal flood story and how the event stripped the homes (and our hearts) down to the studs of what mattered.  I'm reminded now of some of these key points surrounding yet another epic event.  It's funny, because for weeks I'd been filling my prayer with the chance to slow down time.  A weekend with no activities.  An evening with no work or sports.  I was making sure those volunteer hours were checked off, the wal-mart orders were on schedule, the dance studio tasks were above and beyond, and the summer camp registrations were soon to be on the done-list.  I was in fast forward mode and begging for a stop light.  And here it is.

We have rearranged everything - the dining room is now home for "distance learning," my bathroom is home for my virtual REV classes, we built a tap floor underneath the house, and the animals are wondering WHY IN THE HELL we are all home so much.  Our lives mimic most right now, but all we are doing is staying put.  No flooded homes to clean out, no floors and walls to strip, no water-logged photo books to salvage.  Just stay put while our friends and relatives in healthcare fight this enemy, head on, elbow deep, hearts hurting, and nerves racing - we pray for their strength and immunity.  I used to pray on the ride home from carpool every morning.  I realized about 4 days into this that I hadn't prayed.  We are creatures of habit.  My new prayer takes place constantly.  All day long - at the counter, at the sink, walking to the mailbox, sipping my coffee, while cooking or while coaching through a math lesson, while drying somebody's tears, while drying my own tears.  This new habit is what I needed.

We are consumed with the news, social media, anything digital right now.  It is the method that keeps our businesses afloat.  And thank God we have it.  We worry about finances, small business, our jobs, and what the reports will say the next day.  We worry that our distance learning "teacher mode that was never meant to teach" isn't good enough.  We worry that we are yelling too much (we KNOW we are yelling too much).  We worry that the clorox wipe didn't cover it all or that we didn't wash our hands enough today.  I notice a tightening in my chest, and it takes a few minutes before I understand that I'm just a victim of my own worry.  We are trying to control, when we are being taught to surrender. 

God has slashed away at the intense distractions and buckled my seat belt to keep me surrounded by the very needs He sees fit.  I am watching my boys become best friends.  I am discovering how each of them learn differently - what activities each one likes most and what lunch food each one prefers.  I am seeing my husband for the man I married, as the endless jobs / roles / duties that got in our way now disappear.  I notice how much I LOVE to teach dance and how much I miss hugging my dancers at the end of each class.  I have been given a reset button that didn't require a trip to some exotic island.  Each day of this new normal gives me a chance to push that button - and boy do I need to push it.  This past week of "distance learning" with school and virtual classes with my dance studio was full of low moments.  But like a child in time out, this adult self is learning.  The day we get to return to the normal, we will all be reassessing what should be allowed to stay and what shouldn't.  Hopefully we will appreciate that normal more.  Step outside more.  Breathe it all in more.  And allow ourselves to BE MORE present in the moments that make this life just that - MORE of what we need. 

Trading Grip for Grace

I once read an article on how "moms of 3 are the most stressed out of all moms."  Not only did it catch my eye long enough for a quick read-through, but people started tagging me with remarks like "just have another", "see, go for the girl.", etc.etc.etc.  I prayed for Miller the entire half a year that we tried to conceive as well as the 9 months he spent in my womb.  I knew God would gift us with his life, but it was hard to trust the timing.  I knew that, just like all children, God would make him special and unique.  And I didn't realize that indeed, the fourth, would change ME.

My 3 boys always matched.  Not to be cute - but so that I could always locate them.  Hell, even Daddy would join in on the colors half the time and not even know it.  It was like a 6th sense...still is.  And it surely makes it easy to track em down at the fair or tailgate.  I'm glad they were cute too, but the idea that I always knew what color to look for at the Easter egg hunt topped all other positives.  Now that big Tim-Tim came along, I'm just lucky we're all clothed.  WE.  Yes, we.  Briggs gave Miller that name, by the way, and we like it.

With Brannan's help, I kept clothing sizes organized, (not neat, organized), everyone always had proper supplies, sports equipment, a bag lunch when they needed it, church shoes that fit, hair cuts, dr checkups, vaccines, prayers, and a whole lot of love.  Now, I'm lucky to keep those last 3 in check:  vaccines, prayers, and love.  My focus has shifted.  And I'm ok with it.  I've told several people that our fourth child has made no real difference from three.  And that's a true statement.  The chaos of three is an adjustment like no other.  So tossing a fourth into the mix is just that...still chaos.  But aside from the noise of 4 boys age 7 and under comes a peace that my grip is gone.  Peace.  Because my grip was traded for Grace.

Thankfully so, too.  Because an entire 3 weeks of lice treatments almost broke me.  These guys are averaging a load of laundry a day, 5 gallons of milk a week, floors that need vacuuming EVERY day, and nerf bullets that will be the death of me and the mobile almost-1-year-old.

AND WHY DOES EVERYTHING SMELL LIKE PEE!????
Everywhere - PEE.  I mopped the entire first floor of my house last week with double the pine-sol to water ratio.  It did nothing. I sat down in my bathroom to hide from Grayson for just 3 minutes, and the smell lurked like the 4 year old that I was trying to escape...terrible.  I know.  But the toilet is the place. It's times like that where God gives me the gift of a deep breath and a giggle.  Where I remember to thank Him for the joys of this life.  Because loss hurts.  And the closer you are to Him, the closer you are to those you miss.  In that deep breath, I know that I'm doing just as I'm meant to do.  Not that women are all "meant to work in the home, clean, be a mother, etc." But that He has called me to be a marching force with the gifts He has so graciously given me.  The gift of being a wife, a mother, and a teacher.  The gift of raising children, in hopes of putting better people into this world.  The gift of being a woman.  I read an article once about "praising Him through our everyday works...like dishes."  Any mama who needs a high five from me, just ask.  It's yours.

Losing my grip, gaining Grace.  I made 3 resolutions for the 2018-19 school year and haven't kept a one of them.  And that's ok.

My four need my mind, my guidance, my cooking, my help with homework, and my prayer.  I'm learning that my four need my energy, my whole heart, my forgiveness, and my patience.  Letting the grip release allows me to see their tiny hearts and minds as they are - individuals - all asking for our strength in different ways. 

Don't get me wrong, the three cabinets to the left of the fireplace are atrocious.  In my perfectly imagined world, I'd organize them tomorrow.  But I'm sure somebody will wake up with croup cough or a nose will need to be suctioned every hour on the hour.  And the first of 4 nerf bullet walk-throughs will commence around 6:05 am.  I'll sing praises on my way home from carpools for JUST the croup cough and JUST the runny noses and nothing worse.  Those cabinets can wait.  Because life needs navigating.  We're all just walking one another home.  And I'm just glad my "grip" transformed - no longer holding tight to those things that controlled me.  Instead, grabbing onto the Grace that makes it all beautiful.