Barefoot at the Kitchen Sink

So much has happened since my last blog entry, yet nothing has really changed. I don't even know why I'm here. I just read my last post and it was somehow comforting to remember how I felt then, how I continue to feel. I still limp through each and every day, determined to parent my incredibly challenging kiddos with grace and love, failing to do so more often than I care to admit, crying out to God to give me strength, to keep the looming darkness outside the doors of my heart. He typically holds it at bay. Sometimes He lets me reach out and touch it. Sometimes He lets me hold hands with it for a day or two. Sometimes it feels really good to do so. To let myself grieve, to let myself feel angry, not only for myself, but for my husband, for my children. There is so much to be thankful for. So very much! But that does not negate the things that are so very hard to swallow.

I find myself in the kitchen a lot. Chris is always harping on how I should have our big littles do more around the house, that it doesn't all have to fall to me. He's right. I know I should, for their sake and mine, but the truth is, my tasks in the kitchen are the only things that make sense to me right now. I find comfort in filling the sink with hot soapy water, grabbing a wet wash cloth and tackling a pile of dirty dishes. I feel a sense of efficiency rinsing those suds down the drain, setting the dishes out to dry, putting them away with pink, pruney hands. I don't mind sweeping and mopping the floor, wiping down the counter tops, preparing a meal. In my kitchen I can turn up the music and quiet the thoughts and fears swimming through my brain. In my kitchen I can focus on something mundane and I never feel like I have no idea what I'm doing. In my kitchen no one is demanding something of me that I cannot find the strength to give.

Lately life has been more full of questions than answers. I feel like every time we find a new normal in our household, another curve ball comes our way and old battles have to be fought all over again. I am tired y'all. Never the less, I will get up, walk back into the kitchen and capture a moment that makes sense. I will table all of the questions about school and therapy and trauma and autism.  I will welcome home my amazing husband who always makes everything seem a little bit better just by being in the same room and trust that one day I will look back at this post and marvel at how God provided a way for everything that is troubling my heart at this moment.