"her brain is badly battered"

ernie zips away through the dark for chinese. the long day is over and a long evening has begun. hoorah for friday nights and all that comes with them.

jude was crabby all the day long. he seems to have a harder time about the teeth than henry ever did. poor baby can barely smile. he doesn't even try to speak, puling out his demands while pointing with his fingers. he wanders the house with an ever-present whining sound coming from his lips. i don't think he even hears himself.



after much deliberation it has been decided that, unless we cannot prevent it, or unless the only other choice is to run through the town screaming and crying and ripping out our curling tresses, henry will no longer nap. if he naps, regardless of the time of day, he will not be ready for sleep until well after 10 o'clock in the night, which is far too late for these owls to handle. we need the dark, the night to pull ourselves together, to fold laundry without being helped, to sit in silence for more than four seconds. in addition to late nights due to daytime nappage, he still wakes up at the freaking crack of dawn. it doesn't matter to him that he's not had a full night of sleep. he wakes up anyway, bucks off the covers, and maneuvers his way through the day, all day, never stopping. he never stops moving. ever. seriously. we're talking constant movement for all waking hours, here.



when he does not nap he sleeps by 7 and most days until 7. we'll eat that sandwich, no?

however, eight hours, ten hours of daylight to endure these sounds, to meet needs constantly, to teach them to love one another, to know empathy, to sacrifice, has sent this mama into crazy land.

and, as crazy as i feel, i am also humbled: God never yells at me to stop being childish because He "just can't take it anymore." God doesn't complain about losing sleep and creative "me" time. God meets my needs with love and joy, patience and ever-so-longsuffering. in a way it's clear to me that i worship myself when i think i am entitled to more from my children than they are always able to give, demanding more of them than God demands of them, than he demands of me, me in all of my (ahem) maturity. and yet, though i see this, i can't seem to pull myself together, shut up my mouth, and serve with gladness. thanks be to God that He is longsuffering towards us, towards me!