Lessons Learned from the Poolside

Over the summer my kids took swimming lessons.  One hour a day the littles tested their courage kicking and splashing, daring themselves to try harder each time, be a tad bolder, go a bit deeper.  And as they splashed and stretched and grappled and learned, I did some stretching and learning of my own, too.

We were a rag-tag bunch of moms, crowding around picnic tables watching our children through wet windows and sliding glass doors.   A motley crew from various towns, all ages and stages of motherhood.  At first glance, all we seemed to have in common was the shared goal that our children might conquer the waters below.  And yet, despite our apparent differences, over time a community began to form.

We'd greet each other day after day, towels in hand, polite smiles on our faces.  We'd greet one another with friendly hellos, inhaling the smell of chlorine wafting on summer breezes.  We'd discuss the weather and other "safe" topics, like toddler naptimes and eating preferences. Some moms were more chatty than others, one wearing the face of dogged exhaustion, a newborn sleeping obliviously upon her weary chest.  Another scribbling frantic scholastic notes, grad-school text book perched in her lap.  Others struggled corralling wiggly toddlers missing their naps while many just looked relieved to have a small break in their otherwise chaotic day of mom-challenges.

The vibe of the group felt a bit awkward and contrived, much like the first day of school, where everyone wants to blend and "fit in".  Some people escaped to the quiet safety of their cell phones, while others fled for the isolation of their cars.  But the rest of us hung in past the awkward, willing to be there, to give interaction a go.


And then one afternoon something changed.  One of the ladies, a more vocal mom of the group, took a risk.  She casually mentioned how she had "scored big" at the Good Will, buying back-to-school clothes at half price.  And in that moment, at those simple words uttered, an unheard sigh of relief spread across the group.  In the moments that followed women opened up about financial stresses and strains, one asking for the location of the nearest dollar store, another complaining of rising prices.  In a flurry of excitement moms opened up about cable bills, grocery store budgets, the insanity of gas prices.  And then they went even deeper.  One mom shared her guilt over working full time, another her feelings of failure in dealing with toddler tantrums.  Over the course of an hour, these moms shared their hearts, their worries, their struggles, their fears.  Community was born.  All because this one brave soul who was willing to take a leap of faith and try at being real.


Amazing things can happen when one is willing to take a risk. It's like this gift that gives the rest of us permission to struggle, to admit we don't have it all pulled together.  To share how life gets hard and how motherhood, work, family and obligations pull and tug at our hearts, muddling minds and threatening sanity.  Because of one brave soldier, willing to put her real right out there for all to see, hearts connected and friendships were born.


It's a beautiful thing to behold, this thing called community.  It's what we all crave, what we yearn for--a feeling of belonging and connection.  It's what we're supposed to have, how God made us to be.  And all it takes is just one brave soul, risking a little embarrassment to try and connect, setting fears and fakery aside.  Getting down to matters of the heart--the stuff of us all.

I wish I could say that one brave soul was me, but it wasn't.  But maybe next time it will be.  And maybe next time it will be you, too.  For when we are willing to show up and be real, to share our broken, scared, scarred up places we feel a little less alone.  We realize we're all in this struggle together, this thing called life where mountains of pressure loom large and expectations tug on our shoulders threatening to pull us right down.  But when we take the plunge, we help one another to grow, to learn, to listen and love.  Our hearts get a little bigger and softer in this simple act of exposure.


As the weeks of lessons came to a close, the kids wrapped them up with a jump off the diving board.  Each child needed to decide whether they'd jump right in, trusting someone would be there to catch them, or if they'd instead smile, wave and back away.  Some of the kids amazed us all as they jumped right off the diving board without a moment's hesitation, brave adventurous smiles stretching wide across wet cheeks. We clapped and admired their courage. Others took baby steps, knees knocking a bit while fighting the urge to run away.  We clapped just as hard for these sweet ones, knowing all too well about conquering fears and taking a risk.  And then it was time for my own scared-brave boy to stare down the edge of that board.  It took not one but two tries for him--not ready at first to take the leap.  A look of teary-eyed disappointment spread across his little face but then-- he tried again.  Determined  to conquer his fears my first born willed himself off that plank.  With a mix of fear and resolve in his eyes he jumped.  Hot tears sprung to my eyes at his victory as I realized we all need to practice diving right in.

I encourage you to take your knobbly-kneed jump, the one that holds you back and keeps you safe--and yet isolated.  There is such beauty and hope and love in the depths below.  Just do it. Take your leap.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

 It was a Monday morning (Mondays. I know.) and I was feeling particularly unsteady, dashing around trying to catch up on things that had fallen behind.  Megan had wet her bed. There were party trays to put away two weeks after the party.  Mount laundry towered high yet again, despite my efforts to keep up.  Several reminders later, Adam continued forgetting his manners at the breakfast table.  While schooling the kids (late start, no less) Luke wrote backwards Ps, an old habit popping in like an unwelcome guest.  Yes, it was just one of those days.  So, I did what I often do in response to those days; I tried to fix it. In a tornado of manic energy, swirling round and round I tried to the fix the Ps, fix the manners, fix the bedding, the party platters, mount laundry...fix, fix, fix. Trying to make all clean and tidy, as if long-term projects could be fixed in mere minutes, and Rome could be built in a day.  But a tornado leaves just one thing in its wake--utter destruction.  I felt it in my heart and worse yet, could see it reflected in the eyes of the kids: I had failed.  Instead of restoring peace and order, my whirlwind of "fixing" had left me completely spent and barren...like a tree bearing no fruit.

Sitting down, wallowing in my own defeat,  I then remembered the prayer I had read earlier that morning:

Divine Teacher, I can be rather picky sometimes, setting up the circumstances and paramenters within which I think you must work.  I can be so self-obsessed, seeing myself as central to all, ignoring what you are doing, slowly and patiently, in this world of human hearts and lives.  The fruits of your spirit are: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  Today I will live these in gratitude.  Help me be patient with myself and with others when we seem to bear no fruit.  I trust that you are with us and know how to bring about growth in each one.  Amen.  --Ordinary Grace

This.  This is what I had been doing all morning--ignoring God, relying on myself to try and DoItAllRightThisMoment, sprinting like a flailing fool toward the proverbial finish line. Like the classic story The Tortoise and the Hare, I had read to the kids a few weeks back.  The tale that leaves me feeling like a big fat hypocrite, knowing full well that I'm that hare.  But God cares nothing for the fruitless business of hustle and bustle, of hurry and worry and lack of endurance. In His infinite wisdom, He moves slowly, patiently, steadily plodding along in our hearts, working in mysterious ways.  Ever-present, never failing, God is the tortoise walking inside each of us.
 

And when I feel like that barren tree, picked clean with leaves all shriveled brown on the ground, I know that He is there, working within me, teaching in slow and steady whispers.

 Slow and steady wins the race.

Though I cannot see the finish line, nor when and how the race will end, I can rest in the knowledge that He is here, beating out a path of growth within.  Revealing in bits and pieces His wisdom, alleviating the need to sprint and scurry and spin.  We can rest in Him.  And on the days I feel all wrong, like a backwards P in child's scrawl,  I know that slowly, steadily, He is growing me.  Though the growth is often too slow to see, that Wise Tortoise goes right on walking, performing micro-miracles, day by day, within each of us. It's all just a matter of trust, my word for 2013.


I trust that you are with us, and know how to bring about growth in each one. Amen.


So maybe there's hope for this harried hare, after all?  I continue to trust He will keep on plodding along in my heart, encouraging me to, one day, reach victory.

 I am confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

Phil. 1:6 




shared with:

Imperfect Prose

The Space Between

I wake up, throat burning, eyes bleary from shedding big fat tears of mom-worry.  Today is the day my sweet little boy, just 3 months old with the mouth like mine and the eyes like his, is getting cut open.  He has a hernia which needs repairing.  I feel helpless, aware of how little control we have over what life brings.  The big life and death moments, these are the things we cannot rule, the things that matter most.

My sweet boy is hungry and I cannot feed him.  Belly needing to stay empty for surgery, my eyes plead apology as I gaze down at him.  He grins wide, not realizing what this day will bring.


Hand in hand, my husband and I bring our 4th born to the hospital, searching for courage but finding little.  We whisper frantic prayers, trying hard to stay calm.


It's standard procedure.  Should only take an hour.  Happens all the time.  They bounce right back.  These phrases bring little comfort, but we cling to them nonetheless, willing to try on anything that  cloaks the pain and worry.


Down the hall we march past other kids and parents.  United in our stress, we don't need to speak.  We exchange knowing glances finding comfort in fellow faces lined with anxiety.  And the children--waiting so brave. The little blond boy, pale faced, hugging a Garfield stuffed animal plays video games.  The sweet little girl with the pony-tail swinging and dress twirling about, prances across the waiting room while worried parents hover nearby, pained smiles across their faces.  They glance at our baby carrier and wince.  A baby.  We silently wonder what each one is here for--what little broken places need fixing.


We walk the corridor to the pre-op room and I lose it.  You never realize just how much you'd sacrifice for your child until you're confronted with their frailty.  I would give anything, do anything to avoid my sweet little boy being taken away--life in the hands of a surgeon we barely know.  And I know this kind of love comes from elsewhere.  From Love Itself.  From love on a cross.  And every painful brush with death I've had comes to mind--thoughts of eternity looming too close. I find myself dangling in the uncomfortable space between Earth and Heaven, where the separation feels thin, like moth's wings.  When your heart just might burst from the momentousness of it all, and you're broken open to life's bigger lessons, delivered in painful packaging.

The nurses try their best to console and pass boxes of tissue, because they know.  They see these looks every day.  They wear crazy happy shoes of tie-dye and zebra stripes, don teddy bear scrubs and name tags with shiny stickers.  Anything to make this place feel more like a warm happy place instead of this space between.  Despite their efforts to comfort, the clock on the wall looks cold, metering time much too slowly.  It cares not for solace, wears no face of pity.  It just keeps pace-- this rhythm of life and death.  Tick tock.  Tick tock.  My little one is taken from my arms, crying hysterically from hunger and confusion and now its time to wait.

We all deal with these moments differently.  The man eating crackers by the handful, tossing crinkly red wrappers in the bin nearby.  The brunette woman sipping hot chocolate, glancing nervously at her iphone, a welcome distraction.  There are muted chuckles across the room--and I understand the times when you just can't help but laugh instead of cry.  A man in the room next door faces Mecca, alternately bowing and clutching his chest, eyes closed, whispering reverent prayers.  I can't help but stare in awe at this private moment between a man and his faith. The space between brings us all to our knees and I stare at my empty baby carrier, waiting, wondering.


Surgeons come with reports for some--just a little longer now.  Things went very well.  The face of relief is universal and I want to reach out and celebrate right along with those whose wait is over.  They hug teddy bears tight and wipe tears of relief, unable to contain broad smiles of joy.  And though it's only an hour it feels like an eternity and finally our smiling face comes to greet us, too.  Everything's fine, the hernia was large, you can come and see him now.


Down the hall, sighs of relief rise in our throats.  We pass other children, some recovering, some entering their own space between.  There's a brave bald-headed little girl being wheeled away and mingled with my own relief is the pain of others right here in this place--the place where life and death come together.  My heart aches for this girl and the others like her, and I am faced with my sense of helplessness once more.  The pain of this world is too large, too real, too present.  The banged up, broken, ripped up places inside us all that need stitching back together and the knowledge that only He can truly repair it.

I hold my sweet groggy boy in my arms, a hazy fog taking over from exhaustion and emotional overload.  My mind is fuzzy but my heart swells big as I hold my little boy to my chest, wires and monitors still attached.  The computer screen throbs signs of life but I know the biggest signs of life are the throbs of love we feel here, in the space between.  Thankful for another life lesson of sacrificial love, the universal language, this bumpy road of motherhood brings, I prepare to take my little one home.  Though relieved my heart still aches for the others in this place--the ones still wearing their faces of bravery and worry.  I want to tell them it will all be ok, but I don't know that and who really does but our Maker?  The elevator doors open as the clock on the wall keeps metering out the moments--the big, the little, the ones that make you yearn to reach out and grasp the hand of the kneeling man and the girl sipping cocoa.  Here, in this sacred space between we are all swirling together like tie-dyed shoes, trying our best to love and to live.  In the space between, we are One Body.

 

"So in Christ we, though many, form one body, and we all belong to each other."

Rom. 12:5

Shared With:

 Imperfect Prose

Five Minute Friday: View

It's been ages since I last participated in Five Minute Friday.  It's where we write for 5 minutes flat on a given subject.  No editing, no worrying.  It is so much fun!  This week the prompt is: view.




Here goes:


Right here the view looks pretty.  Serene.  Scenery falling into place, the road ahead looking bright.

But I've driven darker roads.  The rearview mirror flashing blinding lights, high beams illuminating loss, loneliness, misunderstanding and grief.  When we check the view behind us, the road ahead looks smoother, gratitude rushing in over a road smoothly paved.

Sideview mirrors reveal mixed scenery; lives ripped apart, marriages ending, new ones beginning.  Feasts, famine and everything in between.  These views give clearer perspective on the road ahead, heavy heart swelling though leveed by hope.

Driving on I take all this in--roads traveled, others' trails.  Stepping on the gas with the windows down, radio's soft hum wafting on fragrant breezes, thankful for this calm stretch and trusting the view ahead will be spectacular.

shared with:

Mid-May Daybook

Outside my window...

Spring is in full swing!  It's one of those ideal days of May with gorgeous breezes, chirping birds, bright sunshine.  It's one of those days that make you feel like the world is full of imagination and possibilities...



I am thinking...

About my homeschool plan for the summer.  I usually take a good chunk of the summer off--like the entire month of July at least.  This year my goal is to try to keep up at least a little bit with the "3 Rs" throughout the summer since we missed so many days this past year due to moving and baby.  But summer is when I love to take trips, do tons of hands-on fun stuff and just laze around the kiddie pool, so I'm hoping to try and strike some type of balance between work and play.  Maybe early morning schoolwork, and play the rest of the day?  Or school 3 times a week?  I'm not sure what this will actually look like yet.  I'm good at making things sound good in my head, but the implementation is always the challenge, LOL!  Last summer was not the greatest, since I was going through first trimester yuckies coupled with the stress of trying to sell the house, so I want to really live it up this summer!

Planning on making lots of these...

...and picking plenty of these...

...taking time to stop to admire these...

...and always a boat load a' this!

I am thankful...

For Spring and creative juices flowing and my little guy settling down into somewhat of a predictable routine (the first 3 months with a newborn are kinda crazy! I can't say I'll miss 'em one bitty bit!).  I'm also thankful for Pinterest and it's endless inspiration (or I guess I should say "Pinspiration," right?). 


In the kitchen..

I'm FINALLY starting to get back my "cooking mojo!"  It's been on vacation a looooong time.  It's funny--I often get inspired to cook when the nice weather returns, but this is the exact WORST time to cook because it's so dang HOT!  (And our new house does NOT have central air!) Oh well, gotta grab that motivation whenever it comes, right?  I'll just have to cook and sweat. :)  I plan on trying some new recipes soon, so I'll share the good ones, promise!


I am creating...

Along with the return of said cooking mojo comes the return of the Crafty Mama!  I recently made this book-page wreath.  It was fun and fairly simple, aside from the uber-painful glue gun burn I sustained while holding down the LAST page!  That part was definitely un-fun.  But I love it.  I made it from a really old book, so the pages have that cool agey-patina, which I wanted. And best of all it, it even smells like a library!  Bonus!!

I am going...

ummm...does the back yard count?!  The kids have been sick this past week, so it's not been the most adventurous of weeks for us.  But last week one of our homeschool groups celebrated it's final meeting of the year with a May Crowning.  It was beautiful, and best of all, was this cupcake rosary the hospitality group put together!  Amazing!

Crowning of Mary

 

 

Our May Crowning--can you find Luke, Adam and Megan?  (It's like a "Where's Waldo!" LOL!)

I am wondering...

What to make for dinner--the kids have had no appetite from being sick (think stomach bug but "the other end" instead. Blech.).  They're past the BRAT Diet stage now, but not exactly up for a big ol' slice of pizza or heaping bowl of chili!  Some type of bland chicken it is...again! 


I am reading...

I'm proud to report that I'm falling back into my old routine of reading a gazillion books at once!  The book heap is crazy.  Seriously.  Along with several others, I'm finishing up A Mother's Rule of Life, making my way through Educating the Whole-Hearted Child, and starting Carry On,Warrior.  I'm also about to crack open Poisonwood Bible.  I tend to get in more of a fiction mood in the warm weather, I don't know why.  It's sort of my version of beach reading I guess, except I always go for the meaty topics, since...well, that's just how I roll!  You'll never see any Daniel Steel on this girl's night stand. (My apologies to any Daniel Steel fans out there.  I won't judge, I promise!) :)


I am hoping...

To dive into some more crafts projects!  I also need to paint Megan's bedroom.  My girl decided she was done with her granny wallpaper in her room and took it upon herself to, um, rip off ginormous pieces of it.  Yeah.  So, I figured I'd better finish up the job she started!  This is how we spent an entire day last week:

  Yes, and I even pulled a "Fun Mom" and let them draw on the walls, since we were washing them after, anyway.  (Warning:  I wouldn't recommend the drawing!  It created gross colorful drips collecting at the baseboards when it was time to wash the walls!  TOTAL MESS!!!)

Here's a shot of said Granny Paper, when we first got started.  It looks nicer in this picture than it did in real life, let me assure you!

I am looking forward to...

Thomas's baptism!  I'm so excited, he's fitting into Luke's baptismal outfit--this will be the first time I've been able to re-use any of my children's little white outfits!  Woohoo!


I am learning...

how much more I'm able to give to others, when I'm feeling filled up.  After months of feeling totally depleted from the move and pregnancy, I'm finally getting my "groove" back, and have noticed how much more...present I'm able to be.  I'm thankful for that life lesson.  So, with that, I urge you all to take time to re-charge!  It's not being selfish, and it actually makes you able to be less selfish in the long-run!  When I was in high school my biology teacher had a lump of clay he kept in his cabinet.  He told us if we ever needed to, we could "take a clay day."  This meant, that on a rough day, instead of participating in class, we could just sit and play with clay.  Cool, huh?  So, in the wise words of Mr. Arnold, if you feel like you need to, take a clay day!!

Just do it. :)

Around the house...

Little-by-little I'm hanging up pictures, un-packing various do-dads, making the house look more like a home than the generic living space it's been for the past several months.  It's fun.  I'm also doing a "room analysis" as per suggestion in Mother's Rule of Life.  I'm trying to create a kid-accessible place for everything in each room, so the littles can grab things and pick up after themselves without needing a ton of help from me.  This is a looooong-term project!  I'm hoping to chip away at this a little over the summer.

We also wrapped up our Garden of the Good Shepherd festivities and packed away our Easter decorations.  I had grand plans for Pentecost (think crafts, games and special foods) but the kids being sick put a ginormous kink in that plan.  So, we kept it simple.  I did however, throw together a game of "Pin the Flaming Gift on the Holy Spirit" (Yeah, I need to work on that title, I know!  It sounds super creepy!).  This was actually really fun.  And those who know me well, know all about my obsession with "Pin the____" games, so I'm living up to my reputation!  Almost every single party I've ever had for the kids has featured some version of "Pin the____."

Our Pentecost candle

Our game of "Pin the Flaming Gift on the Holy Spirit" (BAD name!)

Fun for the whole family...minus the creepy title!

I drew some little pictures on the kids' juice cups to add to the day of lame-lack-of-prep-festivities, but they thought this was the greatest thing ever!  I love how easy my kids are to please!

I am pondering...

...an article I read about a study on happiness which found that keeping our thoughts focused on the present makes us happier than thoughts that are past or present oriented.  Fascinating.  I was thinking that so many of our thoughts are of memories and future goals.  Why would memories and dreams make us less happy, I wonder?  It makes me think of that old Simon and Garfunkel song, Bookends:  "time it was, and what a time it was, it was..." (I LOVE Simon and Garfunkel.) I suppose these thoughts make us yearn for what we don't have right at this moment, which makes us, consequently...less happy?  Interesting to ponder.


A favorite quote for today...

"I am convinced that the shortest distance between two strangers is a shared story about our broken places."  

I had jotted this down awhile back and shoved it into a notebook I recently unpacked, but I have no idea where this quote comes from! If anyone knows please let me know and I'll gladly give credit!  I completely agree with this, having experienced it more than once in my life.  In my opinion, it's one of the most amazing things about real friendships.


One of my favorite things...

This past week the kids and I were sitting around in the backyard and Luke came running up to me exclaiming, "Mom, I was just SO close to the cutest little bird that I could almost reach out and touch it!  It was chirping just like it was talking to me!  It was one of the most magical moments of my life!"   Oh, how I adore my sweet, sensitive nature-lovin' boy.  Sometimes he says the most amazing things.

A few plans for the rest of the week:

I'm in "the-spring-cleaning-that-should've-happened-a-month-ago" and project mode!  Oh yeah, and I suppose I should do some homeschooling, too. :) 


A peek into my day...

Aaaaah, Spring how I love you!

shared with:

Simple Women's Daybook

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real

PRETTY

The other morning there was gorgeous dew on the grass, and I just had to get out there with my camera to capture it!  I'm continually amazed by the beauty that's all around us, if we just slow down to really see it.

HAPPY

 My little man is 3 months old already, and is all smiles these days!  How can you not be happy at the sight of this little chubby little beaming face?!

 

 FUNNY

We wanted to crown our little statue of Mary for the month of May, but were having a hard time coming up with something suitable to fit her head (this statue is only about 5 inches tall).  Later in the day Adam came running up to me proclaiming, "I found the PERFECT crown for Mary!  Let's use Megan's beautiful ring!!"  So, yes, our Mary statue is now donning a 5 n' Dime plastic children's ring.  I agree, it is pretty perfect. :)

REAL

If you can believe it, these slimy nasty-looking things are REAL, though they look like something straight out of a horror film!  AND they're allllllll over my backyard right now!  They're a fungus called Cedar Apple Rust.  They're currently inhabiting my cedar tree, making it look like it belongs in an orange grove!  They're actually pretty fascinating to learn about.  They take 2 years to complete their growth cycle.  Google away if you have a minute!

Gah!  Sooooooo gross!

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Motherhood is Messy

It's Mother's Day and I wake up at 4am to cat bird's cry, trained to rouse at the faintest sound after 3 months of waking for newborn night feedings.  Falling back to sleep is no use, and I stumble downstairs to put on the coffee.  The sink is full of dirty dishes, spilling over on counter tops.  I look out the pre-dawn window where it's cold and rainy and everything's grey.  My littlest one stirs and my day begins.  Bleary-eyed I fetch him, no doubt with sour expression on my face.  He's all groggy smiles, eyes alit at the sight of my face.  He doesn't seem to mind the bags under my eyes from a bad night's sleep or my grouchy mood to match.  Newborns don't see these things--our fault lines and fractured insides.  They see the best of us--what we strive each day to be.


I blink and the other ones now stir, my three year old girl with the wild hair and pouty frown.  She's feverish and needs new underwear, a stomach virus has taken hold.  My gangly boys tumble downstairs, another one sick, with under-eye bags that match my own.  Though ill and tired, these little ones look at me with tender love in their eyes, faces filled with mom-love.

The rain is pouring down, cold and sad and I feel cold and sad, too.  This Mother's Day I'm mother-less for the fifth year, no mom to phone, no greeting card to write. Bouquets of bright flowers sold by vendors on street corners are not mine to give.  The trees outside nod their sagging heads in agreement, knowing that real motherhood is not all cloudless skies and sunshiny days.

Mom and me, 1989

At the local drugstore sit shelves of cards working hard to sell their facade, their picture-perfect image of what motherhood and Mother's Day should be; all sunshine and smiles, breakfast in bed, lazing in hammocks amidst spring breezes.  But the reality of motherhood is much messier.  Real moms know what the cards don't express, that motherhood is sleepless nights and worried minds, hampers full of dirty underwear all tangled up in stinking piles.  That along with adoring baby faces come endless days of sacrifice, emptying out again and again, saying no to wants while filling child needs. Real moms know that along with wafting aromas of cookies baked in ovens come counter-tops crusted, spilled flour heaped high, puddle of egg alongside.

In the hospital with my firstborn, Luke, 2005

Motherhood is messy.


For motherhood is actually a beautiful mess of blessing and struggle, growth and sacrifice, love found on counter-tops, and in hampers.  Mother's Day isn't really just about smiling faces posed on colorful lawns, smiling pretty for the camera.  Motherhood is so much more.

It's 8pm and by this time I'm ready for bed.  Underwear's now washed but dishes are still piled high.  This Mother's Day has felt more like a marathon than a celebration.  After litanies of infant cries, sick toddler whines, cleaning mess after mess after mess, I'm worn out.  Empty.  Feeling like there's nothing left to give.  I tuck tired children into bed and sit down to feed my youngest one yet again.  He looks up and smiles, nothing but pure love in his eyes.  Adoration.  Not caring to see my exhaustion, frustration and disappointment over a day that started out bad and ended up worse.  He doesn't see the broken mess.  He just sees me, for who I am--a mother just trying her best, over and over again.  And that's enough for him.  I smile back, thankful for love and grace and fresh days ahead, another chance to celebrate this messy beautiful, heart-breaking, heart-strengthening path that motherhood really is.  And maybe that's what Mother's Day is actually about; a day to celebrate the victories along with the failures, the heart-swells with heart-aches, the messy love between mother and child.  And that's worth celebrating.