10 minutes for me

I've been up since 6 - which may not seem that early, but if you consider DayLight Savings Time, I've really been up since 5 a.m.. Again, this may not seem that early to some, but considering I get up at 5 a.m. every morning - which now is really 4 a.m. thanks again to DayLight Savings time - it makes for a tiring day. 6 a.m. is when my oldest son, Matthew, got up. He's always been an early riser and insists on letting me know that he is up, although he doesn't necessarily need me to get up with him. But, I do. I know that while he doesn't need me, he wakes me because he likes having company. His sister got up shortly after I did and soon they had convinced me that it was time to make "sticky buns" - a favorite of theirs. And so I did. The day continued on that way as I got Matthew to basketball practice, did the grocery shopping, made lunch, got the kids ready for a movie, ran errands, folded laundry, made dinner, wrote thank you notes, washed laundry, hung laundry, cut out boxtops for Barkstall, bathed kids, dried hair ... the list goes on - what I did all day long for everyone. At dinner, I was up twelve times gettting things for the family. And somewhere - perhaps during trip 7 or 8 to get milk and a second taco for Matthew - I realized that my life is not my own. Or rather - 23 hours and fifty minutes is not my own. Because today, I did take 10 minutes for me. To just sit. Sit on the floor and remember what life use to be like and perhaps what life will be like -- someday -- maybe tomorrow, maybe 18 years from tomorrow -- maybe never. I remember what it was like when there was less expected of me, less responsibilities, and less worries about meeting those expectations and living up to my responsibilities. About a time when I was taken care of, instead of being the care taker. I remember beautiful days - where I would just breathe. And while I may periodically lament my new found priorities and responsibilities, as I watched my 10 month old, Lucas, roll the ball on the floor - I realized that most days were still beautiful. That while I may no longer have the chance to freely breathe - my breath, my heart, my soul - were still alive and dreaming of so many tomorrows -- tomorrows that my children create. And thankfully, their tomorrows have less to do with lunches, and laundry, and writing thank you notes, and more to do with just sitting on the floor and just being ...