no quiet mornings here

I really should get up earlier in the mornings. Before the kids. I like a quiet morning. Instead, grunts and weird sounds from my kids annoy and I shush them and tell them for the tenth time to stop. Be quiet. Go clean your room. Just let it be a little quieter in here. And also, don't come into my space til I'm ready.

Gah, I feel like a horrible mother. But geez, this is also the time when I try to read a little scripture, prepare my heart for the day so I don't flip out at small things. I like it quiet. What is so wrong with that. Except they are 7 and 8 and quiet has no meaning in the mornings. Still. Just shhh. Please, kids.

Yesterday the ground was snow covered. When we finally made it out, I was a little relieved the baby was ready to nap, so much mess to clean up after playing in the snow, and our house was already a disaster. I went out with the older three and Dad for a bit. My heart wasn't into it. So after a few snaps of photos, I came inside. Looked around. Oh, house, you need a scrub. So I started. Picking up, clearing counter tops, loading dishes. Christmas music playing softly. The boxed in feeling of a messy house starting to lift.

 {made by Dad and the kids}

Now I sit, pulling at a string on my camisole. Oh, great, it's one of those. The ones that hold the shirt together. Sometimes I think I am only being held together by a string. Like I'm about to come unraveled and completely fall apart. Sometimes I do. Lately, I've been keeping it together pretty well. Which is a surprise. I guess a lot can be accomplished with Jesus.