sometimes i have these moments where i looks at my kids and love them so much it actually hurts. i actually cringe because for a moment the love that i am feeling is too big for my frail little heart. in those moments i usually experience a sharp intake of breath and a grimace and a physical sensation of tightening in my chest. anyone else have this?

like last night... i was just sitting watching julian sleep and suddenly he stretched and his feet poked out of the bottom of the blanket and i just absolutely fell apart with love. his sweetness was just way over the top and it overwhelmed me.

but then i felt sad because those feelings are closer to the truth than anything else i experience. the truth that i am blessed beyond reason to be a mother. i am blessed without merit or deservedness with treasures that can not be explained. with two (three) boys who are fearfully and wonderfully made and are little miracles walking around and reflecting the creativity and graciousness and power of God. and they are my job. my job is to care for and nurture three little miracles.

three little miracles who poop in the bathtub with some regularity. who act as if i stabbed them in the back when i won't let them have another piece of candy. who spill juice and cereal and yogurt on the rug and couch and on me. who wake me up while it's still dark out and want to go downstairs immediately and want breakfast and a show and vitamins at the same time right now while i'm still trying to figure out what day it is and where my glasses are. who make a zillion messes and then act like victims when i ask them to put their shoes and coats away before they play. who climb into bed with me every night and force me to sleep on the edge of the bed with their knees poking into my back. who won't sit in the shopping cart. who touch everything possible in the public bathroom. who take up so much room inside that i can't breath, have to pee every 30 seconds, get unfathomably tired by 8pm, and feel nauseous pretty much any time i'm in a car. who throw up on me, wipe their noses on my shoulder, spit their unwanted food into my hands, and somehow always manage to get pee all over the toilet seat.

and so if you're wondering... the sad part is that i forget that they're miracles. i forget that, yes... julian just pooped in the bathtub... again... while i was in there with him. BUT... it's my little miracle who's doing the pooping. he's still a miracle... and the poop will get cleaned up and yes... i have to do it. and no... i don't want to. and yes... i will gag and maybe dry heave a few times. and no... he will not thank me or apologize. but he is still a miracle. and the truth is... the real literal truth is... that if i had to make a choice... i would clean poop out of the tub every day for the rest of my life for the opportunity to love julian. or emerson. {or sasha?} (i'm glad i don't have to make that choice. whoo hoo.)

miracles that happen everyday seem to be lost on us. but they are no less miraculous. just common. and so the monotony and irritation and exhaustion of my boys eclipses that miracle of my boys more often than not. and it made me sad.

here's to living in the miraculous a few more moments today than i did yesterday.

(keep the comments on sasha coming.)