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The other day, I told David if parenting is a marathon, then we’re at the twenty-third-ish mile, and sometimes I want to fall out, put my feet up, and chug a tall sweet tea. Parenting kids of any age is exhausting business, but what exhausts shifts and changes. For nineteen years, I’ve bent and moved through many different stages, often unsure of what in the heck I’m doing. The older they get, the more unsure I am. My knees know the floor as I’m not too proud to beg for help.
My big kids can do a lot more independently, but I’m finding they require a lot more inwardly. We have many, many primetime heart to hearts. For whatever reason, my kids are rarely in the mood for these chats before 10pm. And after getting dinner on the table (sometimes in shifts), driving my daughter to tennis lessons, helping both sons with fifty-seven college essays and scholarship applications, taking the animals to the vet for shots, arranging Christmas gifts for a couple folks, writing for that project, and completing a dozen other household chores, I’m not sure I’m all that great of a conversationalist at 10 or 11pm. Sometimes I do it well, in spite of weighty eyelids. Sometimes I get short and cranky because those “new mercies” are all used up and I’ve got nothin’.
Truth - December - Advent - Season - Feels
Here’s more truth for you: I’m tired this December like I’ve never been tired before. The Advent season feels like one more thing I need to do — or rather several more. Because if I don’t get all the prep work finished, if I don’t remind my kids often enough who the Star of the program is, then I’m not properly preparing them to really, truly grasp the importance of the season.
Christmas has always been my...
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