Lately that has been my mantra.
I just need to get through this.
This week.
This current sickness.
This icky stuff at work.
This deadline.
Through this period.
Surely soon there will be rest.
A pedicure, or at least a good eyebrow wax.
A nice glass of red wine.
A nap in the middle of the afternoon.
An evening of 8 solid hours of sleep.
A date night.
The only problem is that "this"
whatever it is that I am trying to get through
keeps turning into something new.
Some other "this" to get through.
It has been a rough patch.
But just getting through
is not how I am supposed to live.
Just getting through is not enough.
The dangling carrot of a nap or some other simple reward
should not be what gets me out of bed.
This is not enough.
Just drudging through means that surely I am missing the rewards.
The coos and giggles in between the projectile vomiting.
Memorizing all the words to Owen's new favorite book ( "I love you stinkyface").
Listening to Shaun read Hank the Cowdog (complete with voices)
everynight to him until he falls asleep.
While I slip out and run to the store to buy calimine lotion or children's motrin or pedialyte.
The way Tessie's face lights up when she sees her brother.
Her brother that I hope and pray doesn't give her chicken pox.
Counting her perfect 10 toes one minute
and praying please Lord, "just make her stop crying for 10 minutes" the next.
If all I did was just get through this ...
I would miss all of that.
So yes, we will get through this.
I say we because I can't do it alone.
I need my amazing husband who is always willing to shoulder more than his portion of the load.
My patient friends who meet me for coffee.
Watch Tess while I lay in bed with 103 fever.
Who order me pizza.
And my God.
Who doesn't mind my continal pleas for help.
Who is happy when I throw up my hands and admit that
No, I can not get through this by myself.
That this is too big. too much. and I am way way too tired.
Because then I am relying on Him.
Because then it is not about me.
Because then it really isn't about this anymore.
And I can take a deep breath.
And my chest doesn't feel tight.
And my stomach doesn't burn.
And I start to notice all of that.
The giggles and the coos and the stories and the smiles.
The good stuff.
The stuff I want to soak in and roll around in and not miss a second of.
Even if that means that nap I have been aching for
will have to be postponed
until summer.
I just need to get through this.
This week.
This current sickness.
This icky stuff at work.
This deadline.
Through this period.
Surely soon there will be rest.
A pedicure, or at least a good eyebrow wax.
A nice glass of red wine.
A nap in the middle of the afternoon.
An evening of 8 solid hours of sleep.
A date night.
The only problem is that "this"
whatever it is that I am trying to get through
keeps turning into something new.
Some other "this" to get through.
It has been a rough patch.
But just getting through
is not how I am supposed to live.
Just getting through is not enough.
The dangling carrot of a nap or some other simple reward
should not be what gets me out of bed.
This is not enough.
Just drudging through means that surely I am missing the rewards.
The coos and giggles in between the projectile vomiting.
Memorizing all the words to Owen's new favorite book ( "I love you stinkyface").
Listening to Shaun read Hank the Cowdog (complete with voices)
everynight to him until he falls asleep.
While I slip out and run to the store to buy calimine lotion or children's motrin or pedialyte.
The way Tessie's face lights up when she sees her brother.
Her brother that I hope and pray doesn't give her chicken pox.
Counting her perfect 10 toes one minute
and praying please Lord, "just make her stop crying for 10 minutes" the next.
If all I did was just get through this ...
I would miss all of that.
So yes, we will get through this.
I say we because I can't do it alone.
I need my amazing husband who is always willing to shoulder more than his portion of the load.
My patient friends who meet me for coffee.
Watch Tess while I lay in bed with 103 fever.
Who order me pizza.
And my God.
Who doesn't mind my continal pleas for help.
Who is happy when I throw up my hands and admit that
No, I can not get through this by myself.
That this is too big. too much. and I am way way too tired.
Because then I am relying on Him.
Because then it is not about me.
Because then it really isn't about this anymore.
And I can take a deep breath.
And my chest doesn't feel tight.
And my stomach doesn't burn.
And I start to notice all of that.
The giggles and the coos and the stories and the smiles.
The good stuff.
The stuff I want to soak in and roll around in and not miss a second of.
Even if that means that nap I have been aching for
will have to be postponed
until summer.
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