Chocolate Breakfast

I love how my little one sneaks chocolate for breakfast. 

I first noticed it last week.  Tim had alreadly left for work; Jeremiah was the only one awake besides me.  I left him to watch cartoons in the living room while I went to get showered after a morning run.  Soon I was putting the final touches on my outfit when Isaiah comes in and announces Jeremiah's plundering of the pantry.  Sure enough, when I arrive on scene there are chocolate streaks across his little mouth and a nice pile of aluminum on the ottoman.

On the outside I show proper parental disapproval.  On the inside I'm taking notes.  Life is too short and too full of hard things to not have moments of ridiculous joy on purpose.

How do we do that?  How do we enter into ridiculous joy on a regular basis?  Can I just be really confessional and say that it's hard for me at times.  Sometimes I am so preoccupied with all the stuff that's wrong that I forget to focus on all the stuff that's right.  And there are some really right things in my life.  All kinds of invitations to be overflowingly grateful and joyous.

Like being able to take my boys downtown to the fountain to let them play.  On the way home Isaiah says, "Noah, I had so much fun with you."  My heart does a flip-flop of love at the sound of those words.

And then there was our sleepover in the living room floor.  We pulled out an old movie, popped some popcorn, and nestled in together for a mid-summer adventure.  And when the movie was over we all settled in for the night sleeping on the living room floor.

This morning I had a powerful reminder of the life I once lived, full of making a difference in the lives of young adults.  It was sweet.  And hard.  I asked God why I wasn't making that kind of difference anymore. 

And then He reminded me that He is giving me the opportunity to make a difference in my own home.  And chocolate breakfasts, fountain play dates, and living room sleepovers are important business in the life of my kids.  Someday they will remember these times and tell their own children about the "good old days."  And my presence will be right in the middle of each memory they share.

I only get to be Mommy to my own little boys for just a swift moment. 

I want to get it right.  And the only way to do that is to be right here.  Right now.  Ridiculously right.