Yesterday was a Supermom day. As the evening set in, I thought to myself, “this was a well-lived day.” I accomplished much, got frustrated very little, and my general sense of peace rested high on the charts, even with all the activity. If you spoke with me yesterday, I would’ve said I could have 5 more babies and a bigger garden. 

Today ranks as a complete Mom Fail and it’s not even time to prepare lunch. I’ve been frustrated with the kids all day because they’re hungry. What do you mean get you a snack? Why do you always need to eat? Or because they’re walking too slow. Come on! Let’s hurry to get around this block, so we can… go… home and do nothing (voice trailing). And the repeating. OH FOR THE LOVE, I don’t want to repeat myself again.  I have Facebook to check and imaginary concerts to dream about attending. 
I even semi-kicked the dog because she was laying in the path of my comfy chair. How dare she
The difference? 
Half an hour. 
Yesterday I woke at 6:30, like I almost always do, still tired but decided to get in that bit of Me time that can only be found at dawn. A cup of coffee with some reading and reflection and I’m ready to face the day. 
But this morning I watched that half hour slip by from my pillow. “I deserve to sleep in just a little bit.” And when JJ didn’t get the baby quieted down in ample time? Annoyance. When H Boy just wanted to play with daddy and not get dressed? Annoyance. Going for a walk and disagreeing on who would ride the trike and who would push the baby buggy? I was ready to throw my beloved coffee at the sidewalk. 
For some reason, when I choose to arise in peace I’m more able to give myself fully to my family. A small nugget of time to breathe in the morning air means that the demands of the day don’t seem so… demanding. When I choose to honor myself and my heart with a bit of tranquility to start the day, I don’t expect everyone else to be fitting to my preferences in the hours following. I come to expect interruptions, expect inconveniences and expect frustrations that need not frustrate me if I bear just an ounce of patience. 
But first, I must choose. I must choose peace in my own heart before I can expect my littles to be living it. In so many ways, they manifest the condition of my heart, as if until they’re borrowing my perspective until theirs is fully formed. So by choosing the way to start my day, I’m setting theirs in motion. The way I respond, the way I react, the way I choose to be who I am, sets the rhythm of their melody. 
I must choose my song wisely. 
Visit me elsewhere: