Alright, I’m not gonna mince words.
I’m stinkin exhausted. Like no-amount-of-coffee-can-revive-me exhausted. So exhausted that I didn’t have any fight left in me to prevent the girls from leaving the house like this yesterday: 
I originally took this picture because the handcuffs/blinged-out/sleepcap get-ups that they insisted on wearing to carpool were ridiculous enough. Apparently though, I was so tired that I didn’t even realize that the whole money bags and handcuffs thing totally made my daughters look like MINIATURE BANK ROBBERS until I was browsing through the day’s pictures with Matt last night. Whatev.
The past few weeks have been crazy. Exhausting. Not bad, per se. I mean, there have been some not so stellar moments. Like yesterday when Mary Grace concocted a “stew” made of TWO BOTTLES of Victoria’s Secret body spray, chalk, crayons, water, and other assorted items during her “rest time”. In her room. I had to fumigate the entire house afterwards, and I’m fairly certain we still all reek of Victoria’s Secret.
As I cleaned up the aftermath of this legendary stew, headache brewing from the stench of her concoction, the perpetrator drew me this:
a picture of a “flying hotdog!!” (but, of course) as some sort of consolation. It worked. And that, my friends, is precisely the problem with Mary Grace. The girl manages to charm or joke herself out of every possibly incriminating situation in which she finds herself. Yesterday, however, that’s exactly what I needed. A good laugh. God’s grace in my life through flying hotdogs. Awesome.
On a positive note, we did have had some absolutely gorgeous weather this week. Like stay-outside-all-day gorgeous. Even the creek behind our house started beckoning us with it’s 40-something degree waters.
So, Elizabeth was initially less than thrilled with her sister’s idea of fun but soldiered through it and ultimately ended up having a good time. Meanwhile, Carson stood in the background, chastising the girls for ruining the tadpoles’ habitat. To each their own.
At one point yesterday, I sent Matt a string of desperate texts begging him to promise me that we will survive parenthood. That our kids will survive . That we’ll ALL JUST SURVIVE. He didn’t promise anything about survival rates, but he did remind me once again that God will give us the grace we need for every moment and every season.
Yes, that. God’s grace. In mornings warm enough to let them run wild OUTside. (thankyouJesus)
In a new reader content to quietly, sweetly entertain his sister with a book.
In this sweet face, fully aware that she has her daddy wrapped tightly around her finger.
Will there still be moments when I resort to leaving the house with my kids looking like bank robbers? Times in which I’ve lost all fight within me? Texts begging for encouragement that I’ll make it through the afternoon? Well, yes.
But just as sure as I am of the inevitable feelings of desperation and exhaustion, I know with even more certainty that God will continue to send those “flying hotdog” moments of life. Those moments of laughter and the long-awaited warmth of the sun and the running through the creek with reckless abandon. It’s all a shadow of His goodness. His strength. His mercy. His power. His grace.