Busy Bee

September has been a busy bee and Jeff tells me I have been grumpy and I know it’s all about the busy and the noise creeping in the time I keep. The words won’t come because I haven’t slowed enough for them to catch me and in the evenings I am limp with tired.
And the other night I lost it with the boys because they wouldn’t pump gas for the van, and “can’t you just show your mamma that you care in some small way?”
“But you should know,” Jeffrey said. “You should know that we care about you.”
“And how should I?” I felt the Spirit tug my heart; ask me to mind my tongue. I should know better. This type of whine is just the thing that shuts off their ears. But I can’t stop. “How should I know when there is no outward evidence that you care? All I ask is for a little help. You didn’t even make your beds this morning. All I have to show that you care is your dirty socks. And you don’t even turn them right side out like I’ve asked you to a million times.”
It’s a long evening after that. Jeffrey cried and Teddy wouldn’t talk. But he made his bed the next morning.
“I think I need to go to the doctor,” I tell Jeff. “I just haven’t been feeling well. This tightness in my chest…”
He makes the sympathetic noises but out of the corner of my eye I see him yawn and he knows.
We need to slow down.
But not yet. Because September isn’t over and the rich blessings keep pouring in.
In the morning I stand under the round eye of the moon and gape at the light coming over the horizon. It spreads out like a blanket and still the words won’t come. At night I stare up at the crowd of blinking stars and remember God’s promise to Abraham. And this waist feels too small to birth a nation—too small to carry this family. Too small to birth a difference at all.
In the late morning I gather the last of my tenderettes and I string them by myself in the kitchen. My fingers remember this work and my mind busies in the quiet of the crisp snap of beans. My dad’s birthday is coming up, I remember. And then I forget. And then I remember again, and that’s how our relationship is. I am feeling forgotten too.
Last night we sat on cold bleachers and watched our boy play in his first “marching” band performance.
Aren’t they just so cute in their own little band section? I kept saying to my friend Janet. I didn’t really watch the game because I kept my eyes on one not-so-little boy with drum sticks. And I let myself be all there. Right there. No where else.
When we left the field I looped my arm through my husband’s, sinking into his warm in the cool of night.
“I like going to football games with you,” I said.
And he laughed. It sounded good.

Comments

  1. says

    Someday this all will pass and your little ones will become big and grown with little ones of their own. For now just take it one day at a time one moment at a time and choose the battles carefully. From a an older mom and grandma with experience may God bless you always. Great post…

  2. says

    Seems like your day somehow ended up right-side out, like the socks you have to flip around on your own.

    All the little things seem so big sometimes.

    I can’t explain how the Lord sometimes, but not always, still my soul, even when I don’t ask, even when I still have to run around town the rest of the afternoon.

    I hope this fall you experience that kind of peace, even if the activities seem hectic.

  3. says

    I love your posts! Keeping life real. A prayer for you, for me, may moments of peace be found in the chaos, moments of joy in the midst of frustrations, and may the love of the Lord settle your heart. Blessings to you.

  4. says

    More than I can count – I lost it with my kids. Now I regret it, but past is past and now is now. I am happy that you could enjoy the game and your boy in the marching band. Taking time like this shows that YOU care and they do care for you too. Just remember that boys will be boys and they don’t always behave like they should. 🙂

  5. says

    Well, my YES, this sounds and feels terribly familiar. Long ago, but still this-close familiar. We all get cranky sometimes and worn out with the dailyness of it all. Especially those danged socks. To this day, my husband insists that he turns every one right side out, even when I stand in the laundry room door, hands filled with evidence to the contrary. Take a deep breath. Ask for forgiveness, admit that little things can add up but….they’re still little things. And enjoy those football games! I always love coming here, Laura. Always.

  6. says

    I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, even after all these years, that my dad always made a point of coming to watch my marching band halftime shows–even when it was the same show over and over again. This is what your son will remember.

    Mad monkey dance–love that from Patricia’s comment.

  7. says

    You’re familiar with the way a boy can take his jeans off every. single. time. leaving one leg in and the other out. No matter how many times I ask him to pull it all the way out… No matter how clearly and patiently I explain why it makes laundry easier… No matter how many times I lose my temper over something so ridiculous…

    And then I missed the football game on Friday night, the one where he was concussed again.

    And I remember again that I can’t be all they need me to be. And they can’t be all I need either. And God’s all in the middle of it filling the cracks and holes.

    And it looks like I traded the hermitage for Laity after all. See you soon.

  8. says

    I can relate way too well to your first paragraph. Somehow December, May, and September seem to trump up the busy around here. And I need time to assimilate it all—right when there seems to be the least time to do just that.
    Then there’s your ending. So sweet. Stopped all the busy and just made me smile.

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