water slides & hope.

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.

however.  

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.