don't wish it away

The days lately have felt very long. Elias is in a new, er, phase, where he is full of energy and emotion and frustration and, and, and... His personality and needs seem to have doubled, and I have to admit to being taken aback by it all.

I know-- it's a toddler thing, a little boy thing, a normal thing, and it's a part of having a little person running around (literally-- he only runs now, no more walking). But I'm hoping that no one minds me saying that it's hard. And frustrating. It's makes me feel a little helpless, a little like running a marathon each day. A little overwhelmed.

Perhaps it's a little obvious already that I'm overwhelmed? I'm noticing that I'm using lots of italics.

Anyway, I was just noticing that inner monologue that I carry with myself throughout my day, and I found myself wishing. For what? I don't know, a break, some excitement, something new and fun. I don't have anything in particular in mind, but I know that's it's different than the day I'm currently living.

And I found myself saying-- with more wisdom than I normally hear from myself-- to not wish it away. Don't wish it away, Alanna. This is all there is. This is life, lived out in it's most primal form. Daily keeping house, feeding the family, caring for others, chasing around a toddler, doing, doing, doing. This is it. And-- these days are the ones I'll look most fondly on in the future, when my baby boys are off at college, or they want to hang out with their own friends on a Friday night, or they are off with their own families around the holidays.

So this is it. As I've seen lately (and it's so brilliant I want to tattoo it on my face): The days are long but the years are short. I know this and believe it, but still find myself wishing for something to distract. Worrying about what I'm going to do with a toddler and a newborn. Here at the house. By myself. (I mean, really. What am I going to do? Besides survive ;-)

I don't want to just survive the daily marathon. If it's going to be a marathon, and it's going to be daily, then I'd like to enjoy it-- now, not in my memory in the future.

So, I'm going to attempt to enjoy the rest of the day, to feel satisfied that this is my reality, that this is my job. To understand what a blessing it is to bake granola at two-thirty in the afternoon on a Wednesday while my son naps peacefully upstairs. It certainly is a blessing, such a wonderful gift.