Because sometimes this is hard.

I don't like to use the word really.  If you mean what you say, you shouldn't need to bulk it up.  I also don't like to use the word very.  Not usually.

But this is really hard.  Really, very hard.

Small kids, a big kid, a business, a marriage, relationships, dreams, obligations....you know how it is.  I'm typically a happy person, but sometimes all this responsability makes me a bit surly.   Like when I've cleaned the entire kitchen twice and wiped a banana-like substance off the bottom of my foot even though we ran out of bananas several days ago.  And everyone is starving but noone wants to eat what I've prepared.  I'm two crappy diapers in and it's only 8am.  That's when it's hard.

People without kids complain to me about being tired.  And I don't punch them.  And I call that my good deed of the day.

So...why?  I have options, I don't have to do this.  And yet, here I am, taking my surly mood out on my dear husband in the morning and then snuggling up to him at night (the world always looks a bit more optimistic when the kids are asleep).

So I made a list.  I'm a list person.

Why I love my life even when it's really, very hard:

1. The height chart across from the pantry.  I feel like I just put it there, it's a tree with one bird.  I swear I just put it up "the other day", yet each of my children already has two marks.  And the sharpie lines marking each boy's height are miles away from each other.  How can a human grow a foot in a year?  No wonder I can't keep the closets organized.  When I'm stressed, I look at it.  It's beautiful.

It would be quite nice for there to be a picture of said chart.  There isn't  Get off my back.

2.  The sight of Jesse's truck outside our front window.  We all feel it.  The tone of the house changes, everyone gets excited and I watch the kids as they all try to decide what they need to do to get front and centre.  Not to brag, but I always win. 
Jesse is often finishing up a call in his truck so there can be a delay between seeing the truck and seeing Daddy walk in the door.  If you're ever on the phone with Jesse after 5:30...beat it. We miss him.



3. My kids.  I tried to be more specific, but I can't.  The sight of them, the smell of them.  Even the sound of them.  Even when I feel like I'm attending a death metal concert against my will.  Poor ears, lucky heart.

I love to watch Mallory master a new task, create a new craft or make a joke that I laugh at because it's truly funny.  We don't use the word "step" around our house anymore. Not because we made some life or values decision about it...but because the word found itself irrelevant.









Cohen is my wild man.  Fearless.  A friend once looked at me with horror when I let him take his scooter on the trampoline.  He was wearing his helmet.  It's just who he is.







Jones is, as everyone who has met him says, so totally Jones.  You know that guy who's totally comfortable in his skin?  Moves calmly and with certainty and has kind of a magnetic affect on the world around him?  Call him Jones.

 

 

 

4. Two cribs in one room.  Think about that for a second.  How long are you in a crib? A blink.  And I have two of them.  In one room.  Sometimes I sneak in and sit in the little green chair in their room and I listen to them breath and I soak it in. I let everything else go and I marinate in the peace and innocence of that very special room.  I think about how big the world is and how we managed to fit so much into such a tiny space, and how every other room in the world must be jealous of this very special room.

Not a complete list, but enough to make me want to delete the entire first part of this post. 

A rough life, it is not.