The Waiting and Hope of Advent

(in)courage | 12/19/2018 | Staff
finter (Posted by) Level 4
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He’s swiveling in my office chair at my desk next to me, and it makes a chirping sound as he rotates like a baby chick waiting to be fed. Even if he weren’t in my peripheral view, I could feel his eyes boring into my temple.

I type a few more words. He clears his throat. I hold up one finger to silence him before I lose my thought, the words of the sentence I was trying to capture. But before my hand returns to the keyboard, it’s gone. I stare at the blinking cursor. Nothing. I have a post due in a few hours, it’s already 7pm, and I have nothing.

Voice - Shrill - Stripped - Kindness - Body

“What,” I bark in a ragged voice, shrill and stripped of kindness. I look at him, and I can almost see his body shrink back. I am mean. I am a mean mom, who yells at her eager nine-year-old during Advent.

We returned from visiting family in Idaho for Thanksgiving and upon arriving home the following week, we unpacked the car and brought in the bags along with whatever sickness we had managed to pick up on the road. By Monday, Nehemiah was throwing up, Kaia had a fever and cough, and Judah was congested and achy. I soothed them and kept them hydrated. I made soup and brought more tissues. I rubbed his back while he threw up. They crawled in bed with me, and we watched Dr. Who together. I was a good mom.

Tree - Forest - Bunch - Children

We had planned to go cut down our tree but traipsing through the forest with a bunch of deliriously sick children didn’t sound ideal; it sounded impossible.

The giant Rubbermaid container of decorations I insisted Josh get down from the attic sits tauntingly in the corner. But Nehemiah still managed to pry the lid open and retrieve...
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