Last night, like every night, was full of too much work and so very little sleep. When I woke this morning groundhog day loomed, like the hugest of mountains.
The boys had been up since just after 5am, grouchy-tired, irritating each other with just a glance. I ignored their shouting and trudged into Bean’s room to find his clothes.
My body felt crumpled with tiredness, my brain incapable of stringing speech together. The prospect of work was daunting.
As I tutted and sighed and fought my way through a ridiculously large pile of odd socks for such a small boy, I cursed everything.
I cursed my exhaustion, my lack of superhuman ability to rise above my exhaustion, the colds that we just can’t kick, the irritable fug that we’re drowning in, the children’s yelling that cuts through me like a knife. I cursed at how haggard I feel. I cursed at how haggard I look. I cursed the pile of washing I still haven’t done, the bathrooms that haven’t been cleaned, the phone calls I haven’t made, the letters I haven’t written. I cursed tonight’s dinner that still hadn’t been planned, bought or prepared. I cursed the sodding ladder in my sodding tights. I cursed it all.
And then I opened the curtains.
And I stopped.
Because amidst the sleep deprivation, the tantrums, the shrieking, the laddered tights, the snot covered faces, the achey bones, the bickering, the self-doubt, the tears, the missing socks, the poo, the sick, the fevers, the worry, was this…
Molten skies, broken by a newborn morning light that has never shone before. Clouds that are a dream, that bubble and wisp and dance in the dawn wind.
This is a sky that has never been before, and will never be again.
This beauty is here and now, regardless of us. Despite us.
It took my breath away.
We are the smallest of things, dancing along to the chaotic rhythm of life.
We are the smallest of creatures being swept along.
And in the flurry and the crashing of the tide it’s so easy to miss what is right outside our window.
I’m linking up with Mummyneversleeps and her genius linky,