Lest I Complain. . .

This has been a challenging week. I think I can say that, right? My fleshly pride finds it distasteful to admit when I am struggling. And the truth is that I really have nothing to be "struggling" with. (Struggling is just another word for an angry or sinful heart!) I have four young children. There is more to do in a day than I can possibly do. I grow weary.

Just today, I cleaned both bathroom floors on my hands and knees. I wasn't planning on this; it wasn't on my schedule for today. But there was a puddle of urine in the downstairs bathroom. (As I cleaned I recognized a familiar smell from my childhood- my grandparents' outhouse. I do NOT think my bathroom should smell like an outhouse; it's not a good sign of my housekeeping!) There was feces on the upstairs bathroom tile (and in the tub, and on Tate's feet, but that's another story). Things happen with four children, right?

Laundry is never done. That is not even a dream of mine. When the baskets are reasonably low and I've done a load or two for the day, I feel pretty accomplished. Then, there are days like today. Livia had three pair of wet underwear (which is strange and excessive, if you ask me). Tate had messy cloth diapers. I changed Tate's dirty undershirt. Five minutes later he crawled to me with brown chocolate shake stains all over his shirt; Rhyle had shared his popsicle. The basket began to look full again.

And, lest I complain, I will remind you, Dear Reader, and myself, that I have four young children. I am blessed beyond what I deserve. (I don't "deserve" any children at all!) I have wonderful, thoughtful, energetic, vibrant children. My husband is wonderful and he is a great dad. There is much, much sweetness in my life. For all the moments of cleaning and washing and cooking and disciplining. . . .there are moments of open mouthed kisses from Tate, giggles with Livia, practical jokes played by Rhyle, serious discussions with Owen. I am privileged to have children climb in my lap to hear stories and clamber up beside me on the kitchen stool to help. Braden flashes me some pictures of our family off of his computer (which is our album!) and I can see, in color, the precious glimpses of my life that give me pause to say, "Thank you, Lord."

So, my heart moves from overwhelmed and angry to thankful and at rest.

And then Rhyle finishes his shower after his haircut. . . and Braden and I decide that he has chicken pox. (All day I have watched his "bug bites" multiply.) So quickly I remember, I am a mother of four small children. . . who will probably all have chicken pox. Thankfully, I smile.

We'll be learning a lot about chicken pox now. Did you know that 90% of our population has had chicken pox by the time they are young adults?! I have found this very helpful link; thank you Cheese-heads. For anyone who is wondering about chicken pox (or has been exposed to my children recently!): http://dhs.wisconsin.gov/communicable/factsheets/Chickenpox_42035_0504.htm