So far today I have gotten about every third thing wrong.

So far this week, 3 of my children have had stomach aches, 2 had fevers, one barfed.

So far, Timmy has had only one potty accident in over a week. I’m trying not to jinx it by hoping we’re over the potty-training hump.

So far today, I’ve laughed out loud at my very funny children and been so frustrated at my computer that I nearly cried.

Today, I finally got a first picking of black raspberries. Between the lack of rain and the cicadas, there may not as many good ones as last year. So sad.

So far this week, I’ve refused every board game request my children have made, but I did play baseball with the twins (parents vs. players as a final practice). I even got 3 hits.

So far today, I’ve been testy more than I wasn’t and still haven’t put away all of the groceries I bought yesterday. The kitchen is dirty from last night’s dinner. And I forgot to make the Jell-o I had planned for tonight’s dinner.

So far today, we had a really great swimming lesson with a new teacher. Except for the one who’d been barfing. She stayed with Grandma.

So far today I talked to my mom on the phone, but haven’t yet called back to confirm Meg’s dentist appointment on Thursday.

Today, I spent more time reading my book (I was almost done with the story) than reading my Bible.

Today, I remembered that God’s love for me isn’t measured in the number of black raspberries I pick or how well my computer works. I enjoyed the giant orange day lilies peeking out from under the berry canes. I saw a big brown toad.

Today, God hasn’t been one single bit concerned with what I did or did not get done. My grumpiness doesn’t scare Him off, and He rejoices over the few moments I remember His presence. He fills my days with good things and people I love (and who love me) and all the grace that a run-of-the-mill, overwhelming summer day requires.

And because of His grace, I will choose to stop whining and go play Uno. And maybe I’ll even clean the kitchen. Maybe.

Today I talked to a mom who was struggling. It was a hidden grief. But it was still there, simmering under the surface. And as we talked about our children, we crossed the line of her grief.

And I said entirely the wrong thing.

I’ve read a lot of blogs and articles recently about ‘what not to say’ to someone dealing with great pain. Loss of a child. An illness. Infertility. A shift in expectation or hope. A loss of job or financial security. Miscarriage. Uncertainty. Repeatedly, I’ve read about all the “horrible” things that people said in times of grief or trouble. Well-meaning people saying exactly the wrong thing.

And today, it was me.

I meant it to be encouraging…what I said. But not knowing the whole story, my “maybe someday” was like a knife in her heart, because that “maybe someday” simply cannot be. It wasn’t that I caused her pain. It was that, instead of bearing her pain with her, affirming her and her parenting and the trauma of losing a dream for her child, I tried to make it better.

And I failed.

We talked later. We finished the conversation positively, openly, and her honesty allowed me a glimpse into a life that, for right now, I am not called to live. I am grateful to her. We talked the good and the bad. She graciously celebrated my children’s success even as she mourns that her child’s path will be much different.

I was humbled. And apologetic. And hopefully, I am better equipped for the next time. The next time that a mom crosses my path, bearing an unseen grief. On that day, I will try to remember today’s mistake. Guard my tongue. Come alongside, if only for a moment.

And celebrate. Her children. My children. The beauty of ashes and the value of suffering. Because every child is valuable, no matter how difficult their path. And every mom has her moments of grief. And sometimes we will each be the one who says entirely the wrong thing.

But hopefully next time, it won’t be me.

Because all of these things happened in my world recently…

I had to rummage through the garbage today looking for a receipt. Then I prayed about finding it. Then I found it. Nowhere near the garbage. Shoulda prayed first. 😉

For the first time in ages, I pulled out the carpet cleaner. Because our carpet is less than six months old and has been peed on multiple times. *sigh*

I am slogging through War and Peace. Very, very slowly. To be honest, it’s just not that interesting of a story. I keep thinking, “And why should I care to be reading about this stuff?”

Megan just announced to me, “I need my white bunny, but it’s in the boys’ room. I need her because she’s the one who fell in love with my kangaroo, who’s really a brown bunny. So I need her back.” Got it.

Spent the weekend at my parents where we celebrated my dad’s birthday, ate at the Fire Dept.’s pancake breakfast, chatted with people we grew up knowing (Mr. V, Mr. Carr, Darceil – who is still the high school secretary, the Franks, and numerous others), Karen and I had way more fun trying to fill crappy water balloons than the kids actually had playing with them, and drove all around Xenia with my mom and sister, laughing at nothing and having a wonderful time. Good times!

I had $40 of “free” money from Kohl’s that I actually managed to spend before it expired. I was so proud of myself. 🙂

Was planning to visit a good friend later this month and missed my window for buying plane tickets. One day they were under $300. The next, they were $400-$500. Bummed I probably won’t be able to go, unless I drive 11 hours by myself. I could do it, but not sure it’s the wisest thing. 🙁

And that is about all the randomness I can remember right now.

I saw the picture of a little boy whose life ended in water, a failed attempt by his refugee family to find a place of openness. He was the same size as my Timmy. And I cried for him, for orphans in Africa, for little boys and girls in the States who will not get dinner tonight.

And I just don’t know how to help them.

I see stories about sex traffickers, wild tales of ‘almost’ abductions. But underneath the fear-mongering Facebook “accounts,” there are real women, real men, real little children who, tonight, will be stolen, raped, used, traded, and left feeling less-than, damaged, unloved, unlovable.

And I don’t know how to save them.

I read the headlines about a woman refusing to issue marriage licenses. She’s in jail over it. Part of me thinks that, if she’s in government, she should do her job or quit her job if she can’t. But part of me wonders why she should have to make that choice. Why can’t she do her job AND disagree with our new legal reality.

And I just don’t know how to respond.

I see the posts attacking anyone who posts or says anywhere something that ‘offends’ on gender issues. I see the story of one child whose use of a locker room is causing dozens of children distress. None of them are happy. I see coming the reality that pastors and churches will be forced to choose between saying “we approve” and losing tax exempt status and christian universities will be threatened with the loss of accreditation for refusing to hire gay faculty.

And I don’t know how to show compassion AND tell the truth. I don’t know how to balance the rights of every person who are ALL made in God’s image. I just don’t know.

I have friends and family members who are cops. And I have friends who are black. And what about Hispanics? Somalis? Immigrants? Amish? Muslim?

I don’t know why it has to be one or the other. Why can’t it be both…and? Why can’t it be ALL and YES?

I see my kids who have so much and who are oblivious to the depth of needs around them. I see all that my family has been blessed with. I know there are margins, fringes, where people need to know that Jesus loves them.

I just don’t know how to go there, give more, find my path.

I just don’t know. I don’t know the answers. I don’t know how to love people. I don’t know how to fix it. I have no answers, but I’m willing to dialogue. I have no solutions, but I will listen to the stories. I cannot stop the disagreements. And I cannot agree with lies. I abhor poor arguments and inconsistent logic. But I want to learn to see people, not statements.

And I want to see Jesus, be like Jesus, bring more of Jesus.

I just don’t know how.

Everyone else got a piece of mail. Except her (and Timmy, but oddly enough, he didn’t count into her equation). So she was howling. Head tipped back, mouth open, letting loose an ear-splitting, can’t-be-heard-over-it, stream of sound.

Now this is not an unusual sound for my four-year-old to make these days. It typically results from being kicked in the head on the trampoline, and thus, expecting me to punish the one who committed the atrocious crime.

But this time, she really was heartbroken. Alex & Erin got thank-you cards, and we got a card congratulating us on the new house. And she got nothing. She felt left-out, ignored. In her world where, so often, things have to be “fair,” she had run into a situation which was not. And nothing could be done to change it. She didn’t get a card.

Howl. Howl. Howl.

I didn’t really have any answers for her. I hugged her. I didn’t promise it would be okay. It wasn’t okay, and sometimes life isn’t fair. But I told her that I heard her, that I understood, that I was sorry.

And really, isn’t that all we can do?

As we grow up, we discover so much unfairness and the reality that no one is going to ‘fix’ everything for us. We face illness, loss, frustration, other people’s selfishness, our own selfishness, job dissatisfaction, death. And even though it all hurts, most of us learn that throwing our heads back and letting rip an ear-splitting sound does not really help. So we leave that to the children.

But that’s why we don’t always hear the howls all around us. Our grown-up version of howling often looks very different from Megan’s wails. Grown-up howling might be a deep sigh from the lady next to us on the bus. The quiet sobs of our spouse after all the lights go out at night. The silent, longing look of a husband who wishes his wife would stop and sit and hear him. The angry, wild looting of a frustrated crowd.

It’s all the same thing. A howl. A wail from the soul. A cry from the heart for someone to listen closely enough to hear. Someone who is not too busy to stop, to make eye contact, to smile.

And the thing is, all around us, every day, are the howls of people in need. Some we can hear. Others are totally silent.

But if we pay attention, we can choose, in those odd moments when we lose sight of our own issues long enough to see someone else’s, to listen for the howls. And we can stop and respond. We can’t fix it, of course, and we should never promise that we will. But we can listen. We can offer a hug, a cup of coffee, a few moments of uninterrupted silence. We can tell them that we hear them, we understand, and we are sorry.

In the end, most people just want to hear someone say, “I’m sorry for your loss, your pain.” They need to hear someone say, “I may not understand, but I am sorry.” And when we shut off our own stream of “poor me” long enough to sit with someone under their burden, we discover a sense of community, a compassion that can sometimes heal our own hearts and soothe our own howls.

At least that’s what has often helped me.

I just went to the kitchen to get the glass of water I always keep beside the bed so I can drink it first thing in the morning. There is a sink-full of dishes there, with more on the counter. They are dirty. But they wouldn’t fit into the dishwasher, which is currently, loudly, rumbling through its wash cycle. I have almost a whole second load there. I should have washed them by hand. But I didn’t. There were still children calling me for some little something (nothing) long after “bedtime” was declared. There was some work I was hoping to get done, but now I’m too tired. There’s the ironing draped over the back of the couch…still waiting after days. Laundry unfolded. Clutter still stacked. Floors still unswept.

Those dishes are a too-real symbol of my days. No matter how much I fit into the “got-it-done” file, there is still more to do. And not just more. A whole sink full of more. And some on the counter, too.

It’s not overwhelmed I’m feeling tonight. Just tired. Tired of the mess. Tired of always feeling behind. Tired of fielding a hundred messages every day from my crazies of all the things I forgot, missed, didn’t get done, or got done late. The son who melted down because I couldn’t stop to snuggle with him right.that.second because his sisters were still needing to get in the bath and his baby brother was already there, needing to be washed. Alex was loud in expressing my neglect. The dishes do it silently.

And I long for affirmation. That these moments matter. That I am loved, despite my constant failures. That my inability to maintain a budget or get dinner on the table on time or keep up with the laundry doesn’t define me. I need words. From someone. From Someone. I need hope. And grace. And help. And kindnesses. And fun. I used to be fun. I wish I was fun again. I need friends. I wish I didn’t feel like I was fighting so many things alone.

And I doubt that I am alone. I am certain I am not. It’s just not something we much talk about with “people.” It’s not something I talk about much, which probably doesn’t help much.

Still, the dishes are there. And somewhere in the crazy, I’m waiting, hoping to see God show up. With joy. With comfort. With affirmation. Thank you, Jesus, for always showing up, even if I still have dirty dishes in the sink.

Today was crazy. And interesting. And I’m just gonna list some stuff because I want to (so much for focus, right?):

My children eat Frosted Mini Wheats dry. Like a snack. Straight out of the box. I think that’s weird.

Megan asked to play a game this morning. I told her I would play after getting a couple of things done. A bit later, she asked me, “Mom, now can we play the game I referred?” Referred?

The i-beams were installed in our basement this morning. Eric also picked up the doors today (I think one of them is not what we ordered), and then we bought our bathtubs, got a title for the double-wide (long story), and got some samples/pricing for exterior rock trim. Then I went grocery shopping before supper (I brought home pizza). Busy day!

Both of the littles thought the crane they used to move the steel beams was pretty amazing.

Because we ran errands through nap time, Meg and Timmy didn’t get naps. Well, Meg finally fell asleep while we were in the parent pick-up line after school. Got a good 25-30 minute nap. But Timmy…not so much. And by supper time he was DONE. I’ve never seen him that upset. EVER. My happy, jolly boy finally reached his limit. He literally screamed himself to sleep on the living room floor (one minute he was screaming, the next he was asleep), slept for about 30 minutes, and started crying again when he woke up, just picked up where he left off. He cried continuously. He wanted held, but as soon as you picked him up, he didn’t want held. He wanted me, he wanted Eric. He hated his bath. His eyes were red and puffy, and he ended up just lying on the ground, with his legs tucked up under him, nearly comatose. He finally let me carry him into his room, read him a book and lay him in bed. He fell asleep instantly (and he’s going to be starving by breakfast). Poor kid!

Today was all about croup. Timmy started with a fever yesterday. Woke up from nap a bit congested. Fever came back as soon as his medicine wore off. More ibuprofen and bedtime, with vaporizer already working away.

I checked on him at 10, before I went to bed. He was restless, tossing a bit and whimpering my name in his sleep. It was pretty pitiful. And I had a feeling it would be a long night.

It was. He was up, barking cough and feverish, about 1. We were up until 4. We did the steam shower, shut up in the bathroom. Then I just cuddled him and rocked. He breathed better, but couldn’t seem to fall back to sleep. So I finally gave up and laid him down. We slept again until about 6:30.

He was still wheezing a bit when he got up, so I made an appointment to rule out something other than croup. No worries. Just croup. Just. Hopefully, tonight will go better for both of us. He’s one pretty worn out baby. And I’m one tired momma.