We are knee-deep in summer now, and today I’m ear-deep in listening to argument #27 between two of my young darlings. I’ve had it up to here, and I’m about to let them know it. Just when I move upstairs in their direction, all three kids suddenly belly laugh over one of the dog’s antics. I do an about-face and quietly step toward the kitchen, desperate not to break the more peaceful mood.
But before I reach the kitchen, one child throws a sarcastic remark toward another, and we’re back to Squabbleville. I shake my head at how whiplash fast the moments travel from stormy to serene and back to stormy again.
Ah, summer. It holds memories that burst with sparkling goodness, like my husband and I celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary. But it also holds less desirable moments too, including many tears lost because of a difficult change. And lately, like a sibling squabble that keeps circling back to my attention, the difficult parts have hung around much too long, grossly overstaying their welcome.
I confess I am more than annoyed and frustrated by this. I am just plain heart weary.
It’s my nature to resist allowing the difficult parts of my life to have a seat at the table, to just push them right back out of the room. I fear that if I spend a little time with them, they will grow and take up even more space in my life. So I both pep-talk and chastise myself by saying things like Get over it, Kristen. This is no big thing. People deal with a whole lot worse all the time.
Ironically, the more I try to push the difficult realities away, the more they velcro themselves to the curves of my heart.