What not to miss…

Remembering this:

It’s early but feels late. (Is 6pm too soon to put kids to bed?)

There’s no more energy left in this girl. I’m tired.

I finish the dishes of the big dinner the kids picked at and didn’t eat. Resist the urge to medicate with another piece of chocolate. “Ok, bath time, pick up your toys!” Kids scurry, pick up toys. Begin to head upstairs. I look around. These kids must be half blind. Call them back down to get the rest.

Dutch looks around, bewildered. “What other toys?”

Is it a boy thing?

We finish. Head up. An issue of delayed obedience (which is disobedience) demands attention. There are tears. They are tired too.  Bodies are cleaned but washing hair is a war. Little bodies, slippery like fish, are wrapped in towels. I notice the smell. Glance over at the laundry basket. It towers, taunting me. Tomorrow, I tell myself.

They’re just getting settled when it hits — the ravenous bedtime hunger. “May I please have something to eat?” Which from Heidi’s mouth sounds like, “May I peese ‘ave froggy to eat?”  For some reason “something” always sounds like “froggy.”  I remember their non-existent appetite when dinner was served. Suddenly that appetite has returned with a vengeance. After banana, cheese, and a baggie of tomatoes, they ask for more but I draw the line. I give them a half-hearted 3-second teeth-brushing, herd them into bed, kiss them both and turn toward the door.

Out the door, in the hall, I exhale the sigh of relief, but stop in the hall. My room, the bed, the computer, the escape, it calls. Beckons. Lures. Come, be DONE. DONE. DONE.

I haven’t prayed with them. I haven’t told them how much God loves them. I’ve cared for their bodies but neglected their souls. My flesh is so weak the truth is I just want to close my bedroom door and be done. But then I remember how sometimes bedtime takes forever … and it should.

I turn around and enter in.

I kneel, curl up beside Dutch and lean in close to his puppy-breath, kiss his cheeks. I pray God’s goodness and favor and blessing and grace over his life, then tell him how much God loves him and I do too.

“Mommy, I love you so much.”

I almost missed this.

I go over to Heidi’s bed. She’s already heavy-eyed, curls spilled over her pillow. I pray. Tell her as well how much God loves her and I do too.

“Mommy I yuv you.”

How could I have considered missing this?

I slide under my covers. Write this. Read a precious email from another tired mom. Close the laptop lid and snuggle down into darkened silent bliss. Close my eyes, yes.

“Mommy!! May I please have more cheese?!”

–

{Happy weekend dear Mommy, and thanks for reading.}