Tonight, as dinner was cooking and I sat down to chat with my boys, Andrew took the girls out in the backyard. Pretty soon, Ellen came trooping back in with a dahlia for me. Next came Willa.
She’s in her pj’s (backward) at 5 pm because I was trying to get all the fall clothes swapped out this morning before I dressed the girls. However, I was missing a box or two from storage and couldn’t finish the job and, I’m not quite sure how, this meant the girls stayed in pajamas.
That’s pretty much how the whole day had gone: Backwards and half-dressed.
Mira slept in her “spinny dress” last night because she doesn’t like to have it removed from her body.
I had to go and buy her a fall version of the Spinny Dress just to avoid an every-other-day fit when the Original Spinny Dress needed to be washed.
My last flower came from this guy:
It was like my own little Rose Parade.
Although lately Andrew and I have been referring to this life we lead like a boxing match. We tag each other in and out as needed. He does the coffee and breakfast routine. Tag.
I do morning school, laundry, and three hours of basic need meeting. Tag. I go to my room to sit and stare like a boxer who is punch drunk.
Andrew starts lunch until I pull it together and jump back in so we can double team the gang for a few minutes. Tag.
And so it goes. This isn’t to imply that our children beat up on us or make unrealistic demands. It’s just what parenting seven kids feels like right now. And I recognize I’m lucky that most days, I can tag in and out a time or two because Andrew is home.
But I’ve been kissing the canvas a lot these days. (Boxing term for “knocked face down.” Seriously. Look it up. I did.)
We’re blessed. This fight is the Good One. But it’s hard. And I’m no prize fighter. I’m just a girl with bloody knuckles and no time to pee.
But we keep at it.
I may lay face down and beg for mercy, but the Mercy comes in the strength to get up and keep going. The Mercy comes when I can’t so He does. And sometimes, Mercy troops in wearing pajamas and carrying a flower the size of her head.
But it comes. Praise God, Mercy comes. He is glorified all the more when I need Him the most. His mercy makes me live and stand up to fight another round.
So I get up off the mat and, after some chocolate and a good night’s sleep, I’ll come out swinging again.
*What’s your life feel like now? I could have waxed poetic for paragraphs more with the boxing analogy, but I had pity on your eyeballs. Plus, I had to look up almost all the boxing terms I was using. So: Analogize your life for me. (It’s a word. I made it.) Paint me a picture…