Amazing

It's early morning, and I'm trying to get us [myself, two small children, one puppy] out the door to take my son to school. Mina is exercising extreme independence in regards to her clothes, Jai is exercising extreme dependence in regards to his, both children are talking to me at once, the puppy is chewing up things she shouldn't be, and my hair is a mess. And we should have been in the car 5 minutes ago. My head feels like exploding, but I resist the urge to scream at the top of my lungs and run away forever. Instead, I inhale as deeply as I can, hold it for a moment, and then deeply release.  Suddenly, in the next moment everything changes. We tie up our loose ends and get ourselves into the car.

Sometimes I think I am crazy. Many times I feel crazy. Occasionally I'll act crazy. And then there are the times when, despite all the craziness, I am able to shift my perspective in such a way that helps me see that in fact I am amazing.

{All of us mamas. Every one of us. We are all amazing for doing what we do.}

It's amazing that I spend the vast majority of my waking hours in the company of one or two little beings who in any given moment are either achingly dependent or ferociously independent [and always talking]. Amazing that I can still stand up at the end of a day in which I am constantly paying attention to at least two things at once as I mitigate relationships, comfort sadness, celebrate discovery, share in wonder, sigh in frustration, keep our home orderly, prepare nourishing meals, attend [some] of my own needs, keep an eye on the puppy, care for our animals, read books, make artful messes, try to connect with my husband, spend time enjoying the Earth, wrestle on the floor, and experience all the ups and downs that shape our lives. [Somewhere in there, amidst all that exuberant living, I try to find a moment for stillness. A moment for breathing in my blessings. A moment for Spirit.] It is truly amazing that I have any energy left at all after that.

Sometimes I do have days when I wonder if I can go on. Perhaps, I think, I'll just fall down on the floor, and nobody will notice me, and I'll just stay there all day in an exhausted heap.

Yeah, right. Do you know what would happen if I tried that? Approximately two seconds would pass before I was jumped on by a child or two, my hair pulled, my head banged, my face kissed, my body embraced by sticky, pinching, loving, scratching, eager little hands. I would be forced upwards and onwards, just to save myself from all the exuberant love of my children.

This, essentially, is what my children do to me. They force me out of my comfortable space, out into my boundary zone where I think my limits lie. As they tear apart my walls, the bones of my foundation are revealed. The truth of my Self shines through, sometimes in a harsh and ugly light but [thankfully] more often, it is the light of Spirit that illuminates my way. I watch as my boundaries dissipate and my limits stretch to include it all.

I love you Jai and Yasmina.

*Gratitude*