Just earlier this week, I stood at the dry erase board in our kitchen and I wrote in lime green.  My blood was boiling and tears were slowly rinsing away my makeup.  I began to hear our little one crying down the hall and I knew she was probably overwhelmed with all of the chaos of our house too.  She’s like her Moma; she thrives on ordered chaos.  I felt at such a loss for how our family is supposed to move forward from here.

It has been the kind of week full of tears and pain and while I love my life, it’s been really hard lately.  And, I know that Team Geanes can play hard but I’d really rather ride the bench right now.  Just once.

 *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The little lady in our home and I have spent the evening in when we should have been at dinner with friends.  I was too drained to make it work and something needed to give.  In hindsight, we probably should have gone.  To laugh around a table full of folks who love us, support us, and meet us in our mess.  But instead, we stay in and try to hide away in front of a movie, hoping to settle into bed sooner.  And the little one does, but I stay up until my eyes are so heavy that it literally gives me a headache to try and keep them open.  I hit ignore each time my phone rings and try to keep napping the time away.  I want so desperately to be consciously aware when my husband walks through our door from work, but I miss it.  It will be morning before I know we’re in the same house together.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

We stand in the kitchen for the five minutes that we have together between him walking in the door and me walking out.

“What’s on your mind?

“I’m just looking at the board over there.”

And for a moment, I feel bad.  I know he’s trying so hard to make all of this work and he’s so outnumbered by two (often times) high maintenance girls.  I don’t want him to lose himself in the race of fixing this for his family.  But I don’t want to lose our family in the fight either.

We kiss each other goodbye and my heart aches as I walk out the door longing for more time.  More time for our family to be home at the same time.  More time to dream together and put feet on those dreams.

And I crawl into my car, tears streaming, and I sit still.  And the question from our little one screams in my mind.  “God remembers our question, right Moma?”

So I ask Him.

You remember our question, right Lord?