The Brick

Reading posts like this just infuriate me. Mostly, infuriate me with myself.

http://laylagrace.org/

I complain when the boys wake up too much at night. I complain when they don't listen. I complain when I take them to Wal-Mart and we need to use their bathrooms. I complain when they spill pancake batter on the floor.

And then I get hit with a brick.

"A brick" is when reality comes and smacks me in the head, and reminds me of just how good I have it. Little Jason across the street from us, is a "brick". His leukemia has returned, once again, and his family is currently on their Make-A-Wish trip to Disney World while the doctors here try to figure out what to do next. At this point, he's become an experiment. Nothing proven to have worked on individuals in the past, works on him. They are now searching for other doctors that have found other miracles, and trying to figure out what chemo treatment to use next that his body won't recognize, because he's had so many.

And "a brick" is coming across a blog where someone isn't complaining about their kids making messes, or not listening, or screaming too loud - but dying too slow.

Hug your kids, and enjoy every minute with them. It makes me so frustrated that it takes a brick to knock me back into reality, and really be thankful for what I truly have. A wonderful, beautiful, healthy, full-of-life, family.

From one of the blog posts:

"Towards the end of a pregnancy, a mother will wake up to go to the bathroom every few hours. I think this is the body’s way of preparing you for a newborn and the sleepless nights that come along with it. Layla now spends most of her days sleeping. 30-45 minutes after she wakes up, she is ready to lay down and sleep again. Is this God’s way of preparing me for all the quiet time that is coming soon? The house is quiet. I am able to go through the motions of laundry, dishes, cooking and picking up without interruptions. But I WANT interruptions. I WANT Layla to be under my feet asking for cookies. I WANT to hear her playing with her toys. I WANT to take 45 minutes to unload the dishwasher because she keeps trying to help. For every time I uttered the words “I just can’t get anything done with these kids under my feet all day” I am eternally regretful. The days that I looked forward to naptime so I could get a grocery list made, or finally fold all the piles of laundry…I regret those days too. If I could do it all again, I’d enjoy EVERY SINGLE WAKING MOMENT I had with her. I would never wish for her to sit still or take a nap or go to bed early. I would never look forward to the days when she could sit through an entire episode of Dora silently. I would treasure every second with her."