This Mess of a Woman

I woke up this morning to the sound of machine guns and billowing voices. I allowed one eye to slit open only to see an army hat blur by followed by a grenade to my face.

The battle was one. The war had been waged -- and I was the target for destruction.

But I am a lover, not a fighter. Please STOP FIGHTING! Please stop the struggle.

The struggle for peace, for balance, for approval, for air.

I feel this oozes over to my life. My body aches. My mind is weary. I have no patience. I want to pull the covers over my head and try to allow the decibel level of the screams not only of my spawn - but of my life - to be at a tolerable, manageable level. I don't wait to fight. I don't want to struggle anymore.

I need place where my soul can breathe.

A place that when the footprints of doubt are stamped across my body I can cleanse myself -- be naked...be exposed.....be vulnerable....be who you I am...and still feel sufficient.

I need that place. I need to sit. And be still. And know, that I am not enough. Put that His grace is sufficient for me.

I have too much on my plate -- and I am doing none of it well, but all of it half-way. There is only one of me - not four. And it would take four of me to do it all right now.

I need to get back. Back to those days when summer vacation lasted two and a half years. And when a sunny day and watermelon meant heaven. My love for life did not change as I have grown up, but other things have grown so large they have shoved that love in the corner.

And need I remind you -- Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

So she is coming back. And this mess of a woman will be all straightened up.

And pick glitter can once again be showered to all.

But not til after my mid morning nap.

Amen.

PS As I went to click the publish button, BT came in and said, "MOMMA! I can't believe you forgot. I am serious. You forgot to spoil me! When you gonna do that?"

And with that, I smiled.