This moment

It's been a bit of a trying evening around here.  Tired kiddos compounded by a really really tired mama plus spending an hour at a cub scouts meeting (because we need one more thing to do each week...) equaled a few tears at bedtime.  Nothing extreme, and nothing unjustified considering that the boy did get hit on the shoulder with a ceramic princess (an accident, she swears!) followed by having his mother bump into his injured knee (scooter fall this afternoon.  its been a tough one for Jack).  The poor kid and I both kind of fell asleep while reading Harry Potter...

Sigh.

It is easy in this moment to feel frazzled.  Worn.  Frayed to a tangled mess by this over-full life.  It is easy to blame, to if-only the night away.  If-only school weren't so busy all the time, if-only I'd not gotten that new student, if-only I didn't have to tutor, if-only school started later, if-only I had a housekeeper, if-only my children would just tuck themselves in for once!

But it is 9:45 and I've made it through the day, made it to this moment, with a cup of hot tea and a quiet house and a few minutes to sit and type.  I am grateful for this.

It is easy in this moment to think that THIS moment is the one that matters.

Quiet is good.  So is tea.  So is sleeping more than 5 hours a night, for that matter.   Barring that, I will take 15 minutes of peace.

I totally love this moment.

And yet.  This moment is not my life.

Ok.  I know, technically it is.  I keep this card within sight to remind of just that.

It's just not the ONLY moment that is my life.

Midst the tears and tiredness, dishes and homework, buried in the ordinary-Wednesdayness of it all, are the moments I need to remember.  The moments that ARE my life, right now.

Moments:

Ivy on my lap at the cub scout meeting.  Quiet and patient and a little more fidgety every moment.  Turning around and standing on my knees and I was just about to shush her when she leaned in to plunk a kiss on my cheek and whisper, "I love you, mommy!"

Jack fearlessly joining a group of boys to talk and joke and learn the names of our senators.  Raising his sweet hand to talk, repeating the answers so earnestly, carefully copying the big boys' jokes with a crinkle-eyed smile.  Confidently talking about gold dollar coins.  Trying on being a big kid and doing pretty darn well.

My two, stopping outside the door at St. Paul's, faces upturned to the darkened sky.  Counting stars and wishing for pinatas.  Skipping to the van.  A small hand in mine.  A tall boy running ahead on his own.  The night quiet and rustling with fall. This moment, bottled, could sustain me for years.

Ivy, asking to snuggle at bed.  "But no nummies, OK?  We're starting to not do nummies so much now."  Snuggle.  Heart break.  Heart full.  This baby of mine, she is doing just what she should be doing, growing up so fine.  I hugged her so close and felt her littleness and remembered with gratitude that she'd asked, ever so politely, to nurse this morning at 5am.  Remembered with gratitude that I'd agreed, and held her tight, and had one last moment of nursing my little one before she *snap* grew so so big.

Jack, so sleepy after a rough day, but eyes alight as he cooed babytalk to his pet rat, face glowing when I raved about the 5 sentences he wrote for homework, skin so soft as he leaned into me for a goodnight hug.  So young still.  I have known this little person for 6 years and he is a part of me and a complete mystery at the same time and I am so lucky to have each challenging, frustrating, intensely rewarding moment with him.

And this moment.  Tea growing cold because typing in these memories is more important.  Because I need to revel in the good of it all to tie my ends back together.  To smooth myself out and face the next day, ready myself to make lunches and set out clothes and lay the foundations for a lifetime of moments with my family.

Where does this moment find you, dear readers?  What was the moment today that will sustain you tomorrow?