In the Silence

It was a particularly difficult day.  As a mother I have these days fairly often.  If you have ever cared for a child you know that while each child brings such unique joy to life they are also capable of bringing frustration in equal measure.
At age four my oldest is consistently waging a war of wills with me.  He is a smart boy who can count as high as you want him to and knows how to write his letters big and small.  He is also one who feels he knows how and when things should be done which typically does not coincide with my instructions or will.
Our twins, at age 2, almost 3, are playing follow-the-leader with their older brother in his pursuit of autonomy however, they bend to their parent's direction much sooner.  They are working to remember to use the toilet, share their toys and to use words not screams or hits to relay their emotions of frustration and anger.
All of these pre-school aged boys of mine are tender-hearted, creative, funny, impulsive (as one would expect of 3 and 4 year olds), curious and stubborn.  They love their baby brother fiercely and though he is only 4 months old they endeavor to include him in much of their work and play.
My baby.  This is the most amiable and pleasant baby you will ever meet.  The youngest of four boys would have to be be, wouldn't he?  When we brought this baby of mine home from the hospital I had to wake him up to feed him, "Hey little guy, time to eat now."  Even now he enjoys to sit and watch his brothers or his puppy dog do what they do, it doesn't matter what.  I read somewhere, regarding birth order, that the youngest child learns very early on how to seduce their caregiver and to draw people to them to get the attention they need.  If this is true, I absolutely agree because when my baby turns his beautiful blue eyes my way everything else fades and I'm held captive.  He looks into my eyes, smiles and says, "Aggooo" and it's the best thing ever.
But yesterday.  Let me say here that I've been learning, as each child has been added to my life, that it is most time folly to try and plan to get something done.  Attempting to tackle a predetermined to-do list is just asking for frustration.  Getting things done in a day with 4 children has to be more organic.  Such as, the boys want to play with their big trucks downstairs and the washer/dryer are down there so while they play a few loads of laundry gets done.  Or they want to read books to their baby brother and I get to clean the bathroom or take a shower.  Chores have to flow with the day, they can't necessarily be planned out, at least not in my reality.
So, I did what I should not have done and determined to get X,Y and Z done this particular day.  Between more messes than usual, overly tired 2 year olds into everything on different levels of the house and more time outs for the 4 year old than I can honestly remember, things did not happen the way I had hoped or planned.
I struggled with myself and my temper all day.  Fighting to not yell yet feeling as though I was not being heard.  Using self-talk to try and calm myself down to no avail.  And finally it was bedtime.  From the time breakfast was over to the time we brushed our teeth and said nighttime prayers the day had flown by, a flurry of tears and matchbox cars and marker on the kitchen floor.
After the nightly ritualistic calls of, "I need a drink", "Can I have another hug kiss?" and "I can feel my pee coming out", and my response to each I crawled into bed.  My husband and I heaved heavy sighs and each silently offered prayers of thanks for a now quiet house and a cozy resting place.
The stillness was broken by the cries of one of my two year olds.  This little boy in particular talks, laughs, sings and moves everywhere possible in his sleep.  I leapt up at the sound of his cries and went into his room to find him uncovered at the end of his bed with one leg wound into the ladder of the bunk bed.  His eyes weren't even open.  He moaned a bit when I detangled his leg, picked him up, nestled him into his covers, stroked his hair and gently kissed his forehead.  Then, as I sat next to him on his bed I couldn't move.  It was like the blue-eyed laser beam stare of my baby.  I was motionless, mesmerized by the beauty and wonder of this child before me.  With a hand on his head I thanked God for every part of his being.  The physical, emotional, mental and spiritual.  The parts of him that are funny and the parts of him that are stubborn.  I prayed for wisdom and strength, for health and joy.  This was a sacred moment for me.
I spent time with each of my boys that night, hands on their heads and hearts, stroking their little arms, kissing each finger.  Praying for their present and future, blessing them and thanking God for every inch and aspect of their being.
In the silence I was able to see things for what they were, to see each child for what he is-a miracle, a gift.  The whir and responsibilities of the day dimmed the light of sacredness, the silence served to illuminate.  I'm sure I will "struggle with myself" through many more days in this life, but I will be certain to recognize what is sacred and in doing so work to balance myself even during the most difficult of days.