There is a moment each night that jump-starts my heart, no matter how hectic or crazy the day has been. It’s that moment when I check on my kids before I go to sleep.
I wish they could feel what I feel as I watch each of them for a split-second. The air is so thick with how much I adore them, maybe they can feel it…
Grace sleeps in a diagonal across her bigger bed, covers strewn around her. She’s a heavy sleep-breather. And her long eyelashes rest uneasily on her cheeks when I come in.
Claire curls up in a tiny ball melding into the two blankets she’s got a vice-grip on…the tattered ones she’s had since she was a tiny baby.
Max stretches out across his bed, feet too long to fit, wrapped in his favorite blanket (one handmade and given to us at our wedding all those years ago). He’s adopted it as his own because it’s so soft.
Elle’s angular legs and arms seem much too long for her little twin bed, but she slumbers sweetly with an arm outstretched above her head, wrapped in her zebra blanket she got for Christmas years ago.
And Lu…some nights she sleeps like a princess, with one of her soft princess dolls wrapped tightly in the crook of her arm, tucked safely under her chin. Other nights she kicks all the covers off and sleeps with her head where her feet should be, her cheek smooshed against the mattress.
And no matter how tired I am, or how mad-as-a-hornet I’ve been at them for their selective listening or leaving jobs undone, or their sassy-talk, I remember: I am a mother. Their mother.
And gratitude swirls up and mixes in gracefully along with the love spilling out of my heart into those dark bedrooms.