All of His glory.

Nothing annoys me more than having to face and clean a completely disastrous kitchen after Battle of Bedtime. It seriously irks me to-the-core. Where do I even start? I contemplate how many hours of my life I will spend in the kitchen, watching my nights dwindle away as I scrub away- wiping counters and cleaning up messes instead of snuggling up to my husband. I wonder how my kids seem to get more food on the floor (and the walls) than they do into their mouths. I dream of what it will be like to have a dishwasher someday. Such is the life of a stay-at-home mom who prepares three meals (and at least two snacks) a day. Not enough time during the day equals more than enough dishes after dinner. How did we manage to use this many forks? I wonder this but am reminded as I have flashbacks of forks being dropped and forks being mischievously thrown. Instead of washing the fork each time it's thrown on the floor, I get new forks... hence the countless dirty forks awaiting to be washed at the end of each day.

This mama is tired. Everything about this mama screams tired. Tired hands fold overdue laundry and wipe the tears of overtired children. Tired eyes watch the clock as it creeps by. Only five more tired hours until Battle of Bedtime. The thought is so tiring. Tired legs keep moving my tired body to clean up the same mess over and over again. I've lost myself, somewhere, in the sea of parenting. I used to be fun and outgoing. I had hopes and dreams, passions, hobbies, interests. Now I dream of days where I can shave my legs or paint my toenails in peace without feeling guilty about taking too much time for myself. "It will get better", I hear this a lot. Yes, it has to. My one-year-old and two(soon to be three)-year-old will get older and become more independent. They'll need me less, and I'll grieve over that. But for now, in the thick of it, it is hard. It is sucking the very life right out of me each and every day.

I strive, with everything within me, to remain patient and loving throughout the day. I have to remind myself that my two(almost three)-year-old is just that- no matter how many times he tells me "no" or slams the door in my face. No matter how many times he disobeys or talks back (oh, and he does...), he is only going to be three and this comes with the territory. Terrible two will soon turn into terrible three with this child- my strong-willed, stubborn, hard-headed child. The open-ended patience I so strongly desire to have is soon overcome by my own strong will. As my patience stretches thin, I am short-tempered and shutting down, longing for the hour I'll be able to sink into the couch and stare at the wall, knowing the wall will ask nothing of me. I am disappointed in myself. I cry out to God for help, asking what more I can do and what I need to change. I'm doing the best that I can.

And then grace steps in.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, 
 for his compassions never fail.
 They are new every morning; 
 great is your faithfulness."

And I am brought to my knees.

How beautiful, the picture painted through that scripture. Each night, our slate is wiped clean. Each morning, his mercies are new. There is no tally, no scoreboard that is keeping track of each time I spoke too sternly, angered too quickly, was worn thin too easily.

"They are new every morning- Day and night proclaim the mercy and compassion of God. Who could exist throughout the day, if there were not a continual superintending Providence? Who could be preserved in the night if the Watchman of Israel ever slumbered or slept?" (Adam Clarke- Commentary on the Bible)

And it is then that I am reminded that I'm not doing this on my own. I will continue to do the best that I can. I will strive to make each day better and I will let Him do the rest.

I will let me be me in all of my imperfections, and I will let God be God, in all of his glory.