Moving Mountains

 "How do you do it?!?!?!" I get that a lot. I'm not sure exactly what is meant by that. I usually answer with some sort of sarcasm or reassure the woman (it is usually a woman who makes this comment) that I don't do as much as they think I do. But I always wish there were more time to give an in depth reply.

When I was younger I didn't want a mega family. I am the seventh of 12 children, my father is the third of twelve children, and my mother is the seventh of thirteen children. I watched the women in my life. I saw first hand how much work they did. I viewed with my own eyes the emotional grit required to be at the helm of such a large ship. They each had their own way of running a household....and none of those ways looked easy. I knew for a fact that I wasn't up for it.

Yet here I am. The Mama. The captain of my own destiny and I'm at the helm of a freighter, not a canoe. And I know how I got here. (And yes, I know where children come from...get asked that a lot, too.)

I've learned a couple of things over the years about emotional grit and about myself. I am amazing. And so is every other woman out there. I can do hard things. I can make mistakes and learn from them. I can get things right now and then and accept sincere praise when it comes.

I can recognize all that I have accomplished today and be good with it. And if I need to let go of all the things I didn't get accomplished today I can and I will.

The laundry pile seems to grow right along with our family. At one point, when we had three or four little ones, I felt it such an achievement to be caught up with the wash that I marched around the house blowing my imaginary trumpet and at the top of my lungs sang, "Hail the Conquering Hero!" This became a tradition and once a week or so I could be heard singing and marching proudly.

Then as more children blessed our home, the conquering occurred twice a month. And then a few times a year. And then.....well let's just say the hero hasn't marched since 2008. Man, that was more difficult to admit than it should have been.

But this week I found myself in an unusual place. I have had four really good nights of sleep this month, which is more than I had all of last decade. I woke up rested, not sick, and ready to pick up a few of the things that I have had to let go of since forever. I decided it was high time to march again.

I was able to put all else on hold and I washed. Not just the normal 4 or 8 loads a day. I washed from the time I got up til the time I went to bed, determined that the walls would be resounding with imaginary bugles before sundown the next day.

But the next day brought little boys that needed a ride to Cub Scouts, friends that needed a shoulder, a cross baby getting her first tooth, a migraine, drivers ed, ripened green beans, a sweet mother that actually asked for some help (almost never happens), the dog was sick in the basement, a parade, boys high on parade candy, and of course the ballroom team had costumes that were in need of help.

But I persevered.

By evening I had just two more loads. Watch out world, I'm coming back!

And then I went in to my bedroom. Sir Harley had fallen asleep on my perfectly made bed. Clean sheets. Clean blankets. Wet Harley. Two more loads of laundry.

The next day was a family reunion. I had a choice. I could visit with my siblings, some that I see once every three or four years, or become once again the Conquering Hero.

It was a lovely reunion.

So I didn't get to sing. I'm a bit bummed. Some of my children haven't lived long enough to see that side of me. But it's there just the same. I am still amazing. I can look at what I did get accomplished and be okay with it.

The next time I get asked, "How do you do it?" I'm going to be honest. I do my best every day. And then I go to bed tired and pray that He will make up the rest. And someday, if I am really lucky, I might just march down the entire street blowing my imaginary bugle.