By breakfast time, my new perspective has dissipated.
I wake an hour earlier than usual, nauseous with exhaustion and try to remain steady amongst the sonance of chaos in the house. Oh, the noise. The boy who seems to have a passion for making the girls scream, the girls who have an equal passion for the screaming, the aggravating sound of Tom and Jerry (which may be the most brain numbing cartoon ever and how have I become so crazed that I've resorted to turning it on?) By the time I hear Monday's weekly tornado warning testing, I feel joining in with my own loud wail.
Where is the perspective I need?
I go online and read my favorite blogs. Kisses from Katie. I think she is a modern day Mother Theresa. Talk about gaining perspective. And Ann Voskamp. Beautiful as ever.
And then, on the next screech, I forget. It seems always to be disaster control around here and these are the days I wonder why all my children are at home and have no doubt why it used to be that children were to be seen and not heard.
I have to make a choice. I can loose the battle, head right into that bad day as a willing participant or I can just do what's right in front of me. It is damage control sometimes. It is minute by minute. I can say "thank you, for expression, God, of all sorts."
I take a break and struggle through a poem I'm working on for Faithwriters, the topic Minutes. My spin; how quickly these minutes pass and how soon upon us, children gone. Sometimes to survive, I have to wax poetic. Flowing words, too, bring perspective, insight. I have to write to remember.
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