It’s constantly grasping at peace, but never really getting a hold on it.
I had a moment to catch some sun the other day, along with my breath. With my body sprawled out on the deck, both the sun and the stillness warmed me.
But as usual, as soon as I settled into one thing, I was being called to another, the familiar feeling of being pulled in two directions washing over me.
On one side of me, the wind chimes swayed effortlessly in the breeze, their unpredictable melody a soothing escape. I took deep breaths, focusing inward while embracing a feeling of calm that is so rarely within reach. But on the other side, the always predictable melody of squealing and hollering echoed from the mouths of my children, who demanded my attention.
“Watch me, mom!”
But as soon as I directed my gaze towards them, the fighting began. The Big took the Little’s Ball. The Little went down the slide when it wasn’t his turn. The Big screamed at him to stop what he was doing before physically forcing him off the slide.
And poof. That moment of peace vaporized as the arguing reached its boiling point.
I sighed in resignation as I stepped into the shadow of their battle to referee the dispute, the calm from just moments earlier barely a memory.
The crying erupted. The whining scorched my ears. The blame hung heavy in the air.
But after a little motherly guidance and prodding, their tiff seemed to evaporate just as quickly as it had formed. And harmony returned – until the next argument exploded a few minutes later.
The chaotic days of parenting don’t leave a lot of room for peace. The days are noisy, full of interruption and distraction.
But maybe a certain peace can be found in knowing that I’m just where I need to be – with the children I’ve been so undeservedly blessed with.
And maybe that’s enough for now.