full of holes

My worship was not spent in a row of chairs, listening to a worship leader on stage. It was not sitting in a pew with the sound of an organ raising high. It was staring at the crashing waves of the ocean as the sun rose high, listening to my favorite worship songs on my iPod. Closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun. With a full cup of coffee in my hand I had the pleasure of finishing uninterrupted, while it was still warm.

The girls weekend came at just the right time. Waking up whenever my internal clock went off and not having anyone to run to the second I jumped out of bed. As a mom, there is a sense of guilt that we need time off. We think we should always take joy out of our role as a mom and wife. It seems wrong to say we enjoy eating our breakfast without little hands grabbing food off our plate. Or not hearing anyone call our name five times in a row. But sometimes, we just need time to recharge. Time to talk with other women about our lives. To sit on the beach, staring at the ocean, flipping magazines and not constantly on high alert scanning the sand for roaming little ones.

We ate. We chatted. We sat quietly by ourselves. We read books. We drank wine. We went out to eat and got exactly what we wanted, regardless of it was toddler snack worthy. As I searched for shells to take home and remember this weekend of rest, I came across these two next to each other.

The one on the right represents how I feel when I try to do it all. Full of holes, opening myself up to the elements. Never knowing if I can stay whole through another crashing wave. When I wake up to a screaming alarm, jump in the shower, change a baby, iron clothes for Brian, pack lunches and diaper bag and purse, jump in the car, try to scarf down a cereal bar and at least one cup of coffee while driving and singing songs with the little voice coming from the back seat, drop at daycare, hurry through traffic back to work, try to jam as much work as possible in 8 hours, force myself to take bathroom breaks and drink water, drive back to daycare in traffic, give big hugs and praise for a good day at daycare, rush home, make dinner, serve toddler food and grown up food, spend QT listening to Brian's day, laundry, blogging, thank Brian for vacuuming and dishes, crash into bed.

The one on the left is what I want to be. Smooth and round. Rolling through the sand. With the ability to hold up to whatever comes our way. Strong and firm in my roll as Lila's mom and Brian's wife. I hope I will get there. I will get there.

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.

~Isak Dinesen