Mom! (Did You See Me?)

Mom! (Did You See Me?)

This uncanny thing happened today while I was vacuuming my front entry.

My four year old was throwing colorful, flat and plastic dog bones from a game
around the house.
My two year old was whining because of the rolling dog that is also part of the
dog game and the senerio said-four-year-old was playing-out where the rolling dog
(coming in at a whooping yard per hour) was a "monster" and, naturally, the
monster was after them (it was hysterical, you can laugh, I did).
Two year old did not want to be harassed by rolling dog, play this game with
four year old brother, nor want me to be vacuuming. He was not a happy camper
and had a slight fever, so was, generally, feeling miserable.
Tiny man, almost six weeks already(!) was also in tears, as he prefers his days to
be in the arms of anyone who can rock and love simotanteously, and, in that moment,
he was in his swinging seat instead.
Our home was loud.

Somewhere in the midst of vacuuming, I found my mind drifting back to a post I
published recently about feeling overwhelmed, How is Life?, and realized that
life is loud. But then this happened...:
Big Strong Man, who was home and attempting to take a nap upstairs, came to the
stair top and asked me if this is what I had written about.
This noise.
This demand.
This craziness.

Yes, it is. 
I smiled back and nodded ever so slightly.
He acknoweldged me. In the chaos.

Although I am mature and grown and have life practically figured out and working so
well for myself (slight exaggeration on all of that), I was elated and glowing.
I was a 32 year old woman-child who wanted to relish on my amazing husband who saw
me and that moment in which, loud as it was, offered me comfort.
Much like my sons who ask constantly, Mom, did you see me?,  I felt cared for -seen- and
it was marvelous.

It still is.
Vacuum awaiting my return in the hallway, boys, tucked away in beds and bassinets, hubby
crashed out on the guest bed (for ours is covered in a mountain of laundry); dishes in the sink,
on the counter, and table; errands to be ran, calls to be made, stuff to do.
But this, all of that hysteria, and now this glorious calm after the storm, feels so good.
And I am grateful.
Thank God for the hysteria, and thank God for the glorious calm.
He saw me.

like a shy child, timid and full of thanks-