Gratitude Friday...

Welcome to my Friday night.

So far, I've eaten half a bag of "cheesy chips," taken a personality test that popped up in my Pinterest feed (I'm a 6, A Loyalist.  Which means nothing to me because I wouldn't pay the $12 required for the full test.  I feel so mysterious.) and I'm three episodes into Season 2 of "Reign."

Oh, what's that?  You've never heard of "Reign?"  

It's just the most delightful teen drama from the critically acclaimed CW.  The show is about Mary Queen of Scots.  Of course, she's living in France with her husband, Francis, King of France.  A Scottish queen.  A French King.  And all with a ever-so-slight British accent.

Clearly.

But since it's a regular, network (albeit, slightly less prestigious) television, it's generally PG rated.  Maybe PG-13 on occasion.  

Don't worry.  I'll be bored with the show quickly enough.  As I do with most every show I watch.

Except "Call the Midwife" and "West Wing."  

Consider yourself warned.  A "West Wing" marathon is coming.  

I feel it.

And on with the gratitude list.

(Let's just go ahead and add "cheesy chips" to the top of the list.  Since that was my dinner.)

I should confess Rhys is draining me of every bit of energy.  We're at that point where I dread getting out of bed to deal with him.  Because from the moment my feet hit the ground (sometimes before because I don't always beat him to the ordeal of waking up), Rhys has to be DEALT with.  

Sigh.

Truthfully, I have few moments when my thoughts are not completely consumed with me thinking...

"LALALALALA!!!  I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!!  MAKE IT STOP!!!  LALALALALA!!!"

So when we have a few minutes of blissful, normal (as normal as can be expected) conversation, My Father has to practically yell at me to get through.

Sorry about that, Lord.

This morning, "The Revelation Song" came on the radio.  Which is enough to catch my attention.  For some reason, the kids were discussing birds.  What songs do birds sing, Momma?  Do Hummingbirds sing, Momma?  Momma, why do those birds poke holes in the wood?  

So on and so forth.

I answered as quickly as I could with what little information I knew.  

Then they started talking about building a nest.  Aubrey Kate told Rhys birds build their nests with whatever they can find.  Right, Momma?  Yes, they do, Baby Girl.  A little bit of this and a little bit of that.

That got my attention.

I'm a little smitten with the idea of a nest.  Especially building a nest.  

Don't we all build a life with a little bit of this and a little bit of that?

Aren't our days built the same?  Days that turn into weeks and weeks into month and months into an entire childhood.  

From the back of the car, just minutes before the discussion of why a woodpecker hammers wood, Rhys was crying.  Why?  Because he threw a toy down and I couldn't pick it and drive the car at the same time.  

Life is rough.

He was crying, "I want to leave this house."  Bottom lip stuck out and all.  It was truly sad.  I would have felt sorry for him except I was too busy being frustrated at his insistence on moving out.  Good.Ness.  He could at least pick up his toys before he moves out.  

I started singing along with the song.  Listening.  Listening to my miracles talk about building a nest. A home.  A life.  These days are strung together in a mess of tantrums and fits and tears.  It's exhausting.  But in between those tantrums and tears, there are moments of laughter and joy and snuggles.  Books being read.  Super Heros winning battles.  Bubble baths and giggles.

A little bit of this.  A little bit of that.

I am grateful for all the bits.  The tantrum bits.  Which I know will end.  And when they do, Rhys will be just as delightful and fabulous as he was before.  

Grateful for the snugly bits.  Because he still fits in my lap and still loves to cover me in hugs and kisses.  

Grateful for the tears.  When he declares his intent to move out on his own.  Because it gives me the chance to fill his ears and heart with my intent to love him no matter what and care for him even when he doesn't want my care.  Forever and always.

Grateful for the laughter and joy.  Reminds me that even in battle, and don't think for a second a threenager is not a war, there are times of relief.  Moments we can breathe and refresh.

I'll gladly and graciously accept both bits.  

Thank you, Father, for sending me a love song this morning.  I am certain I would have scooted straight past the discussion of birds and nests and continued to live in my own thoughts.  May I be more aware of Your voice.  Please help me to hear.