Life is fragile. . .
My daughter is screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of the nice restaurant.
She has lungs to scream, and so this day, I am thankful.
I discover my son playing in the contents of the trash he spilled over a few moments ago, coffee grounds spread across the kitchen floor.
My son has legs to walk and arms to pull things down. I am grateful for spilled trash.
I find myself complaining about the endless work, the sleepless nights, the temper tantrums and crayon covered walls. My children are alive, with full mobility, and good health. They are with me another morning, smiling, laughing, breathing–they are breathing.
It becomes all too easy to take the days for granted, to complain about the difficult ones. Are they really all so hard? How many would look on my “difficult” moments and wish with everything in them to take it in place of their lot?
Last week I discovered she is soon to have a baby boy. I wept. I cried with more joy than I thought possible.
Today, I apologize for each time I took my miracles for granted. For every moment I wished for a little space or threw my hands up in exasperation. My babies are mine to hold, today, tomorrow, and for as many as they allow before finally pushing me away.
I will live in the moment, whether it is a sweet cuddle or a screaming toddler, with a grateful soul.