Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by my children in those five-people-need-me-all-at-once moments, and sometimes, I’m simply overwhelmed with the blessings I have right in front of me: five happy, thriving children.
Yesterday eating a picnic lunch at the park was one of those emotional and feeling blessed “overwhelmed” moments.
Of course there was singing–there is always singing–and eating and doting over Rowan. And there I was, stepping back for a moment to snap a photo when what I saw through my camera lens stopped me. There on that blanket was everything that I pray over, try desperately to give the best to, feel the most intense frustration and genuine concern over and, on the other end of the spectrum, the upmost fulfillment through.
I have five children. Me. Five. We are all growing up together and getting through those younger, more challenging years. There is more order and fun, I can definitely say, as my twins have gotten older. I’m more confident as a mother and more understanding of who these little personalities are that are under my care.
I knew from the time I was sixteen that I wanted a large family. I never had a number in mind, but coming from a family of five something around that sounded good to me as an awkward, unsure teenager. Decades past my youth I see what having a large family really means. I understand the work and maintenance and also the deep unity and sibling closeness. I understand the ironies of more laundry and dishes but the incredible relief I get by miniature mommies over household jobs and baby boy. I understand the excitement when I only have Rowan for an afternoon (hoping to get something done) and, ironically again, he is bored and discontent with me since his playmates and constant stimulation are out of the house.
I need both of these varieties of “overwhelmed” moments to see my life clearly. Life is intense sometimes but then again, I know I wouldn’t be content without its intensity. It is raw proof that I’m alive.
the sleepy time gal