the task list vs. offspring

What is it about the process of moving that suddenly makes all house rules go out the window?

The boys now assume that electrical sockets are fair game for finger exploration and open doors mean the otherwise off limits backyard and front porch are now their expanded play areas. Whatever Mom & Dad don’t seem notice in the midst of their frantic packing penance.

I assume a healthy breakfast, lunch and dinner is a nice slice of pbj toast for the whole family. Levi assumes a healthy snack is whatever he finds hiding under the recently moved furniture – bugs, dustballs, month old food.

The 30-minutes-a-day t.v. diet is expanded to 1…2…maybe 3 hours on and off to afford me some uninterrupted packing time and sanity. Which only seems to aggravate the needing-mom-syndrome, they’ve both seem to have caught in the past few weeks. Understandably, with all this change and chaos.

Levi is currently screeching in his high chair having finished lunch the moment I started this post. Brighton is clinging to my leg offering me yet another “taste” of the “soup” he made in his kitchen.

The guilt is unbearable at times. As I tangibly see the insecurity my kids are experiencing as their house empties into boxes lining our den. As I wrestle with when to lay on the floor, reading books, playing kitchen, building towers. And when to tackle this seemingly insurmountable task of packing our 2100 square foot home for our move to 1000 square feet in less than three weeks.

I need wisdom. I need energy. I need boundless patience for myself, my kids, my husband, the demands of life.

Jesus, come. Right here into this 30 minutes where I drop all the “tasks” and head outside – raging allergies and all – to BE with my children. Help me believe you’re in these 30 minutes. Giving me what I need to love these boys and let go of all that needs to be completed by the end of the day.