The day began perfectly, seamlessly, brilliantly even.
She threw on her running shoes and ran. Out into the bright promise of the day.
It didn't disappoint.
By 9:30am she and her loves were on the beach, ready to show their little grommet with his brand new board how to do it.
He got it!
Cut to 7:15pm.
Three tired kids. A day that (even though it was lovely) didn't go to plan.
She didn't accomplish what she set out to.
She was thrown slightly, and didn't take to the changes too gracefully.
Cue: sharp intake of breath at the state the bedrooms had become while she had been distracted. Not one of her finer moments.
Patience non-existant, filter from brain to mouth lost in transit.
She barely hugged any of them goodnight, swept away in trying to control emotions bubbling to the surface.
so much stuff.
Suffocated by the enormity - the relentless, ceaseless, persistent mess.
Storming out and sinking into the couch she put her face in her hands.
She sat, unmoving.
Until she tip-toed, humbly, back to the bedroom where she knew he would still be awake, probably sad.
She couldn't see him in the dark but he moved when he saw her standing at the doorway, it was his 'enter'.
She wrapped her Mother-arms around his Son-heart.
"Sorry" she whispered, "I over reacted"
He reached out arms and forgiveness, and she marvelled at his childlike trust.
And the realisation that God forgives, and forgets, just as quickly, the minute our heart tip-toes back and whispers our sorry.