I am still up. The window is open and it just started raining. I can hear it, and I can smell it. It's a mix of damp and of the dry grass. It is in moments like this that I feel most at peace. My babies are sleeping. They are well fed, warm, clean and comfortable. In a few hours one or two may wander into my bed to snuggle. My husband is working- burning the candle at both ends lately- but he knows we're here, waiting on him. I'll have a meal ready if he needs it, and the kids will all be happy to see him.
Did I get everything done that I needed to, today? No. There are loads of laundry to be put away, and the dish washer needs to be emptied. Toys and out-grown clothing to be sorted. But at this moment I am completely at peace. I am at peace because I've done my little part well, today.
It's so easy to drown under the to-do list. It's easy to lose sight of the goals I have for my family, under the weariness of the moment. But my long sight is open at the moment. I can see it, off in the future: the time when I will not be awakened repeated in the night, or unable to sit down to a warm meal, or constantly refolding the same piles of laundry. These things wash away in the smell of the rain, and in the quiet of my house.
This is a living place. Eternally undulating and reliable, even in it's unpredictability. We plunge forward, savoring the change, holding on to one another until we will, inevitably, let go.
