i might be hiding.
from andy’s desk, i can hear joe, our next door neighbor, mowing the lawn. i can hear nameless birds. i can hear the kids playing on the waterslide. i can hear the faucet in the bathroom across the hall dripping, after one of the boys filled a water gun & left it on.
& i can hear my own brain treading water.
this is exhausting.
life is, isn’t it?
i want to be out there with them, cheering them on as they slide. wiping wet eyes & muddy feet. snapping photos to chronicle our happy summer.
& i’ve done my share of that, but not today. today, i’m done, & it’s only 2 in the afternoon. i have argued with my almost-nine-year-old enough to settle major united nations issues. i have attempted to channel little kid energy & spirit into my housekeeping tasks, only to end up in a fight over spray bottles in the bath tub. my body is weeping it’s so tired. my conflict management skills have all been pulled out, pulled apart, & discarded. i’ve yelled at all three lovelies, probably more than once, & i’ve sent them to their room enough times just today to wear a deep trench in the hallway.
at exactly this minute, i hear one of them crying. again.
i might be hiding.
my breathing is a little steadier now, though, sitting in the dark, breathing adult gulps of alone time. said child resolved the crying in 1.5 seconds, & i hear conversational negotiations from all 3 kids.
there might be hope.
there’s always hope.
because that’s what God gave us. that’s who He is. hope with a shell on it, a skin, a leather glove of helpfulness.
i’ll take a few more slow & steady breaths, mix up a decaf iced coffee, scrounge for some of andy’s birthday chocolate, & go sit outside with them, pinning myself down in an effort to let hope ebb over me, like sprinkler drops on hot little bodies.
i could sure use a few drops right now.