That's what I said, a rally

Monday finds me scrambling to pick myself up and face a new week (yet again).  But with a few concrete goals that yield wholesome versions of instant gratification (bake bread, check), I am aiming to get back on my feet.



The fact of the matter is that we have packing to do.  We may not have found a house to live in yet, but we know where we're going come July.  I am, of course, rooting for this to be a long-term endeavor.  But having grown up in a situation where job opportunities that should have been permanent had a way of spontaneously combusting, I know better than to go out and buy a house before Mr Renn has worked there long enough to commit and marry the place.  So behind the scenes we are rental-house-shopping and trying to will our belongings to pack themselves.



Sensing my absent mind and stress, my children feel it is their duty to put me through the rigors of Parenting 505.  Every rule and decision is tested and tested and tested.  It is so {freaking} exhausting to be consistent and stand my ground. Worth it, yes I know it is.  But there are lots of moments lately where I start to wonder where I'm supposed to pull from to gather the wherewithal to pull myself up by the bootstraps and commandeer the entropic troop into responsible adulthood.  Imagine feeling like 2 tsp of butter spread over 60 loaves of bread.  Well, that probably only requires imagination if you've never been the mother of 3 kids under 5.  And many of you have.

Luckily our prospects for the future, while full of initial stresses (finding a home, settling health insurance, utilities, change of address, blah blah blah), also holds the promise of some renewed energy.



Because it's true what they say.  Sometimes a change is as good as a rest.

And when you are praying because you're near the end of your rope, you're almost always given more rope rather than less need for rope.

So we'll keep on keeping on.