From My Head to My Toes

It had been a grueling day.

A morning that had held infinite possibilities had given way to the realities of a busy life with four children. From the time my feet touched the floor this morning I was a whirling dervish of activity: making lunches; flat-ironing the girls' "bedhead" that comes from going to sleep with freshly shampooed hair; going over the checklist to determine that everyone has brushed teeth/made bed/eaten breakfast/double-checked backpacks before leaving for school; and then rushing madly to the bathroom to start preparations to attend the new ladies Bible study that began at 9:00 SHARP. Sawyer must have sensed that I was not to be trifled with this day because he popped out of bed at 8:00, went directly to the pantry, got out his breakfast cereal, bowl and spoon (my baby only needs help getting the milk jug out of the fridge now--next thing I know he'll be leaving for college!) and uttered nary a word about any galaxies far, far away. A typical opening line these days is, "Morning, Mom! Want to talk about Star Wars?" Some people need coffee--I need earphones. Or a muzzle. Not for me. For him. Anyway . . .

We arrived home around noon after squeezing in a quick trip to the grocery store and post office, and after lunch and a bit of down time we worked on his reading lessons (my baby is reading SO WELL!! I am enormously proud of him!! As is evidenced by the abundance of exclamation points!!!) and practiced handwriting. And yes, of course I caved and played Star Wars with my force-loving four-year-old. I don't want to make anybody nervous or anything, but he is a stickler for details so if you ever want to play Star Wars with him, you'd better bring your A game; you can't just say, "Ooh, my trooper just killed your trooper!" You'd better be prepared to call it a clone trooper or a storm trooper or a sand trooper or an Imperial trooper or a Rebel trooper or a . . . curse you, George Lucas! Oh, and yes, there's always killing, lots and lots of killing. Sawyer is ruthless.

I completed today's homework for the Bible study I'm doing, worked on my Bible class for Sunday, and before I knew it it was time to pick up the kids from school. You know how the hour right before dinner used to be the so-called "witching hour"? For me, it's the hour that elapses between the time I leave my haven on Pin Oak Lane and I finally maneuver my put-through-its-paces minivan back into the garage. Okay, so maybe it's more like the "witching half-hour" or "witching three-quarters of an hour"; either way, it's scary. But also exhilarating in a way that I still can't seem to process. Three kids getting out of school at three different times = potential pain in the neck; but the staggered schedules allow me to have one-on-one time with each child. I used to pick Tyler up first but for now I retrieve Peyton and grill her about her day; when she's finished bending my ears and is content to sit back and enjoy a snack, I turn my attention to Tyler. We typically have ten minutes or so together before Darcy is released, so by the time she arrives the floor is all hers. Then Sawyer takes his turn, telling the kids everything he did throughout the day. It's loud, it's chaotic, but it's fascinating and rewarding and amazing too.

I sort of wandered off-topic but I'm going to cut myself some slack tonight because, as I say, today was grueling. Tyler wanted to go to the Middle School football game at 4:30 which, surprisingly, didn't put me out in the least. I was planning to run to the church building after picking the kids up so I could do some prepwork for my Bible class; I could just run him back to PCA in an hour. The girls helped me do what needed to be done for class (P & D, you ROCK, girlies!) and then used the die cut machine to make cards while I drove Tyler to the football game. I arranged to pick him up at 6:00, then drove back to the building, picked up Sawyer and the girls and headed home.

Here's where the real fun started. A 5th grade art project due next week required two trips to CVS, to drop off and pick up photos at the one-hour processing center; Darcy practiced on her clarinet for an hour; I helped the girls study for tests tomorrow; Tyler had to be picked up by 6:00; and somewhere in there, dinner was served! A pick-up game of football, the memory of which is indelibly etched in my heart and mind; more quizzing; showers; bedtime stories . . . my body began to cry out for relief. I was spent.

I finished the last bedtime story in Sawyer's room (where a couple of stowaways had stashed themselves), we prayed together, and I kissed Sawyer goodnight. As I turned to leave he said, "Mom, you forgot the prayer!" I said, "Sawyer, I just prayed. You were right there next to me. Peyton was right next to you. I prayed. Goodnight."

"Fine," he said. "I'll pray first." You see, our routine is always the same. We--Sawyer and I--pray together, alone; I pray first and Sawyer finishes. I don't know if the girls threw him off or what but evidently the prayer that I voiced while they were present in his room didn't pass inspection. And quite frankly, he was put out.

He proceeded to pray his typical four-year-old prayer--"thank you for Tyler, Darcy, Peyton and me, Sawyer; thank you for Randy and Andrea" (don't know what's up with that, but he has even been known to thank God for "Herman and Joyce and Hal and Cynthia," aka Pe-paw, Me-maw, Grandpa and Gramcy), "thank you for our food and drinks and this whole wide wonderful world" (fantastic alliteration, if I do say so myself), and then he usually launches into a ten-minute prayer about all the Star Wars paraphernalia for which he's grateful. Okay, I prayed, he prayed, we're done. NOT so fast.

"Goodnight, Sawyer. I love you."
"Mom! You have to pray!"

Okay, we've prayed twice now but this is quickly becoming a battle that's not remotely worth fighting, so I crawled wearily back up onto his bed and assumed the position. Again. I prayed. Again. And as soon as I said "Amen" I noticed that Sawyer was back in HIS praying position, on his stomach, propped on his elbows, hands clasped under his nose. And now HE began praying again:

"Dear God, thank you for my beautiful mommy." I knew it--I couldn't type those words without crying, just so you know. "Thank you for her eyes, her nose, for the holes in her nose, for her lips that I love to kiss, for her eyelashes and eyebrows, for her beautiful neck, for her hair, for her cheeks and chin, for her ears . . . ." I've gotta tell you, this went on for quite a while. And as he prayed he touched each part of my body with his little four-year-old fingers. "Thank you for her hands and her feet, for the ring on her beautiful finger, for her stomach, for her knees, for the backs of her legs . . . ." There was not a part of my body that he didn't thank God for. My belly-button! The back of my head! Whoa--talk about powerful! All the rush and hustle-bustle of the day simply melted into the moment.

After I left his room for the night, I came downstairs determined to get to bed early but found that the scene kept playing and replaying in my mind. I was overpowered by my son's expression of sincere, unconditional and all-encompassing love for me (it didn't hurt that similar scenes played out in the rooms of my firstborn as well as my two precious girls) and was blown away. And to think that the love that I am offered so freely by these children is NOTHING compared to the love my Heavenly Father offers me minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, on lazy days and crazy days, when I think I can't take another step and when my steps are so light I feel like I'm not even touching the ground--it's unfathomable.

So, tomorrow is another day and you know what I say?

Bring it on!