We will survive

You have your hands full.

You must be busy.

I bet you’re tired.

“It’s like, I have four heads,” I told my husband the other day. After a week of spring breaking, I was chock-full of comments from onlookers about my current state of being. We had three kids in a five year span. And so, sometimes, scratch that, every time, I am in public with three boys in tow, the remarks are plentiful. And the looks are a mixed bag. But mostly, people seem perplexed.

I’m sure it’s because we look like a tornado whizzing through every place we venture.

Families of three and four kids are what my husband and I know. I came from a family of three kids. All of us born in a four year timeframe. And the hubs came from a family of four kids. Born in a seven year span {the first three born bim.bam.boom. The hubs a bit of a lollygagger.}. So, our parents, too, were busy. They, too, had their hands full. And, I feel as though I am correct in guessing that, at times, they too, were tired.

But they survived it.

And so will we. How do I know?

Because I found this…

My dad, holding me. My sister standing close. My brother squeezed in. I had to be just about two. Because we all have February birthdays — yes, all four of us — and so I recognize the venue. And am able to guesstimate that in this particular snapshot, my brother, Matthew, was turning 6, my sister, Danielle, 4, and I, two. {I might also add that the candle groupings are 2, 4, and 6… so I’m not a complete Sherlock Holmes}. And per the uzh, I assume my mother was taking the pic. Because there were no selfie sticks to speak of in the beautiful 80s.

They survived, I thought as I found this picture amongst piles of old memories. They lived this very same life and they survived. How often I sort of forget that I was Barrett’s age. And Jonah’s age. And Harr’s age. And that someone had to help me become. That my parents helped me become just fine, with two others that needed them just as much.

I don’t remember anything about that day but I am to assume, we survived. Because we are all here, contributing to society, minding our p’s and q’s and raising our own legacies. And we have pictures and memories documenting the stages that followed. But the reminder that they lived through this stage — and allll the stages — and managed to share with us all of the glory, and happiness, and fullness it brought to them {and still brings to them}, well, that’s a good bit of reassurance every now and then.

I know, it’s not as though I have a dozen. So I sometimes question why I’m so tired. Or why my hands feel full. But I’m not going to lie, there are days where, with three kids under six, I find my head spinning. Completely spinning off its axis. At this time where we’re a bit in the deep end of things. I don’t feel completely together on most days. But as I say, quite often to anyone who talks to me with any regularity, we chose to have three kids at these ages. That was the family we prayed on. And ultimately, through 4 pregnancies, the family we received. And while I am also extremely open about the fact that one in Kindergarten, one in the throes of threenagedom, and one on the move, feels like a crazy train, we are, without a doubt in my mind, exactly where we were meant to be.

We planned for the family we want later. In a year. In five years. In twelve years. And in our golden years {fingers crossed}. The way we pictured family vacations. Times around the dinner table. Spring breaks. And all of the memories we will laugh about when they come home from college. We planned for the family we want in the future. For the story that is ours, every step of the way. Not for the sanity we want now.

Because really, sanity is overrated anyway, right?

Most days, as of late, I feel that three, for me, may be my tipping point. I’m sure everyone has theirs … or maybe I just tell myself that to feel okay about being a nutjob on occasion. Maybe it’s because we have “popcorn children” who came, sort of, one right after the other. Or as some say, “stairsteps”, because we didn’t rest much in between. Whatever the reason for my sometimes out-of-breathedness, I still feel like we are standing where we were meant to. Because yes, we have our hands full. Parents have their hands full with one. Two. Ten. Parenting is a hands-full type of gig. And yes, we are busy. Life is busy in general. Kids or not. And I, for sure, am tired. I’ve been tired since I was born, just ask my mom. I don’t think it’s easy. But I think it’s worth it, every single day. Even on the realllly trying ones. No joke. And how many things offer that kind of payoff? I think they are probably few.

You have your hands full.

You must be busy.

I bet you’re tired.

Yep. And I have four spinning heads. But I have proof that people survive it all. The sleepless nights, the teething, the select sports, the friend drama, the driving, the growing, the becoming, and the sleepless nights once again. In fact… they do more than survive. In fact, way beyond more than survive it. They LIVE it. They love it. It often overwhelms them and consumes them. But they are thankful for it. Their regrets are few. Their hearts are full. And their stories are pretty damn funny.

You have your hands full.

You must be busy.

I bet you’re tired.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And I’ll survive. We all will… if we’re the lucky ones. We’ll survive it. And live it. And love it. And let it overwhelm and consume us. Because we’re already thankful for it, on the daily. And when we look back on it, I’m pretty sure that just like all those who have done this before us, we’ll wish we could survive it all over again.