I go to bed each night with a bit of a wrinkled brow. I also go to bed each night with vows of "more patience" on the morrow. These vows roll over with me, take sips from my water glass right along side my sleepy head, they shuffle close behind for my midnight pee. They are devoted bed companions, they hold their own all through the night, all through Lucy's 3 am pacifier hunt and Hazel's wee-hour proclamations and Seth's itches and achy legs.
Then, dawn breaks--those vows. What is it? Is it the light of day? The noise that scares them away? The king's portion of breakfast left on the floor after the diners have flown? Are they intimidated by the sheer number of trivial fits? Is it Lucy? Is it Lucy and Hazel's recent discovery in each other of a new sparring partner? Perhaps the vows--do they feel ignored? Or, is it me?
The holy is pictured above. The messy is how we pass our days to get to the holy. Will there always be more messy than holy, mom?