This Moment In Time

Funny {not really} how the way a person feels can change so quickly. This morning's gift counting was ethereal -- quiet, peaceful, made tranquil by so many pretty pictures showing only the happiest of last week's memories. I thought of life's joys like they couldn't be numbered, as if everything was painted in the rosiest of shades. I spoke of embracing the season, of loving the moment, of remembering and cherishing every bit of childhood.

And then the boys woke up. All three of them. ;p

I don't want to sound like a broken record. My greatest desire through my writing is to encourage.
But I really really really want to be real.

And by two o'clock this afternoon, I felt I might need to preserve honesty among friends by deleting five, maybe six, of the gifts I had listed.

Because my floors now were sticky again with peach juice. Because my {bless-his-heart} husband still hasn't realized that my love language isn't the same as his. Because anniversaries are supposed to be spent loving each other dearly {and our languages are getting a bit rusty with all this time apart}. Because I really won't miss the toy-grabbing and screaming {do I really need to embrace this part too?}. Because my pantry organization may not have lasted through his baking adventure this morning {but boy the muffins were good!}. And because shooting in manual is really hard {breakthrough yesterday, then back three steps today dealing with overhead sun}.

I want to bond with my family. I want to remember this stage in life as being super fun and wonderful. I want to feel that oooey-gooey love all around.

But I go about all that in a totally different way. They bond physically -- I bond through quality conversation. They have fun outdoors by throwing rocks and catching snakes -- I like reading together. Love to them is noisy, to me -- it's quiet cuddling on the couch, whispers of "I love you".

So after a long day of energy and chaos, I retreat. To my computer, where I find you. Whoever you are -- the listening, understanding, compassionate ear on the other side of my computer screen. I have morning retreat time, where gifts are easy to count. I have evening retreat time, where I process and search for meaning and solutions.

The morning girl is rested, hopeful, optimistic. The evening girl is exhausted, worn thin, emptied out.

I want to discover ways to bond with my family -- ways that don't drain my energy, ways that meet all our needs. 
I want to feel connected to them, even though they are boys, even with their strange distaste for "feelings talk".

It looks to me like this will be a life-long journey. I might need lots of "retreat time".
And you might get really tired of the broken record talk.

I apologize in advance.

linking up with picture me {im}perfectly because it's true