My exercise program is dancing to “The Fiddler on the Roof” soundtrack with my boys while holding Eliana on my hip.
My music scene is a drum performance by The Rockets, (Corban and Micah) complete with metal bowls, trash cans and Koolaid spoons.
My reading material involves "I Can Read" books, and little board books that have the corners chewed off.
My decorating scheme has accents of army men, tinker toys, and legos.
My sleep is full of interrupted dreams that never get a chance to flow, so they end up being quite strange and disturbing.
My wardrobe consists of skirts with spit-up all the way down the front, and t-shirts with stretched out necklines from little hands searching for her meal.
My dining experience is not an experience, it's a blur. I eat too fast and that's probably why my stomach hurts.
My school schedule wraps itself around my cooking and nursing schedule. Corban reads to me while I punch down the dough. He practices his handwriting while I'm throwing number beanbags with Micah. They do their math while I feed the baby right next to them. Eliana’s first words are going to be story problems!
My personal devotions occur while my hands are in the dishwater. Hey, at least I'm standing still!
My cuddling time with my husband happens when I fall asleep next to him on the couch while we're watching reruns.
My favorite television shows are on PBS. I love George Shrinks!
And yet my cup overflows. Just like my toilet when G.I. Joe "jumped in to stop Cobra Commander from escaping, Mama!"
And yet my heart is overwhelmed. Like I am when I realize potluck Sunday is tomorrow, and all I have are goldfish and fruit snacks. Appetizers, anyone?
And yet my contentment is sweet. Like the honey I found on the carpet under the table. From last week.
And yet my joy is complete. Just like my membership at Costco, which I didn't notice until my cart was full and I was ready to check out.
Yet the love I have for these 3 wonderful, dirty, loving, stinky, sweet, poopy, thoughtful, sticky little people splits my heart wide open, until I can do nothing else but brush the cheerios off of the couch, sit down, gather them around me, and hold them as close as I can until they protest. Or until I realize that the baby's diaper has soaked through, and Micah has something sticky in his hair, and Corban is crying because I squished the frog he had in his pocket.
Dear ones, I joke about my schedule and wardrobe and lack of sleep, but the truth is, I'm so glad God gave me this job! And let me tell you, if He had seen my resume, He would have had to think twice, that's for sure. Thankfully, there is grace. Overflowing, overwhelming, sweet, complete grace. I can't even work to be deserving of it - I will never be. But I can surely work to be grateful for it. And I am.