It’s me, and yes, it’s been a while. Sorry to be so incommunicado lately. But it’s been One of Those Weeks, the kind of week that every mom who works outside the home knows all too well.
It’s been a week of dreading the alarm clock.
It’s been a week of cursing the traffic on the morning commute.
It’s been a week of rushing from work meetings to my kids’ school to soccer practice, always running late.
It’s been a week of feeling guilty that I’m not available to volunteer in my kids’ classrooms.
It’s been a week of rifling through my closet, praying that I have some clean work clothes that match.
It’s been a week of rifling through the teetering laundry basket in the hall, praying that the kids have some clean school clothes that match.
It’s been a week that passed with no chance to exercise.
It’s been a week of coming home exhausted and having to shift dirty breakfast dishes out of the sink before I can even start making dinner.
It’s been a week of feeling like I have two full-time jobs, and like I’m not doing either one of them particularly well.
It’s been a week of feeling like I am giving my first fruits to my job, and not to my own kids. That, God, is the hardest thing of all.
I’m not sure what I’m hoping to get from this prayer, God, except that somehow I feel like this all needs to be said. Sometimes I feel like a fragile little raft in the waters of this busy life, and any wave could capsize me.
But no wave has, as yet.
I guess that’s something. For all my exhaustion and mom-guilt, my family is staying afloat. So, too, is my job. And I’ve had some good moments, in all of this.
For one thing, it’s been a week of beautiful scenery as I drive to work.
It’s been a week of dark delicious coffee, which I’d drink even if I didn’t have to get up so dashed early.
It’s been a week of two boys giving me lavish hugs as I leave the house in the morning, and running to me with smiles when I pick them up at after-school care.
It’s been a week of work colleagues who make me laugh when I need it most.
It’s been a week of other working parents sharing their own struggles, showing me that I’m not alone.
It has been a week of being home with my boys in the evening, reading them stories, tucking them into bed, praying for them, watching them as they sleep the sleep of the young and unweary.
It’s been one more week in which I’ve managed to stay afloat, and if I’m honest, it hasn’t been all bad. It has had its moments, Lord, more than a few.
Maybe the answer is to talk to you more. When I do, I come away different than when I started.
Because taking time for you is, through some magical process, the same thing as taking time for me. Not just for me: prayer has a ripple effect of peace through my little family of four, through my job, through my colleagues. It calms the waters underneath this little boat. It makes me steadier and happier, less worried about capsizing.
Because it helps me remember that, for all the daily grind and stress and mom-guilt, I am blessed.
Really and truly.