Am I the only one?

I've been wondering lately how it is so possible in this high-tech age to feel so isolated.  I spend my days with my children (whom I adore) doing school, dishes, laundry, wiping noses, rocking babies, and preparing food (how do such little people eat so much?). 

Somedays I long for "the good ol' days".  Now, I'm not ready to give up my modern conveniences, but I long for that sense of community.  The women would get together and share and work while the children played together.  How I long for some community like this!  Somewhere to go and "do life" alongside others.  We live our lives as islands, keeping others at a distance.  I think somehow it seems safer this way.  See, if people get too close they may see the imperfections.  We can make our lives look pretty together as long as no one gets too close. 

Guess what?  I don't have it all together; not even close.  The crazy part of that is that I suspect very few people really do.  I don't know, maybe I'm the only one who is a mess.  If that's the case then I'm really putting myself out there.  But do you know the truth?  I want people to know that.  I want people to see the real me; my messy house, my kids who say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and even to see that most of the time a pony tail and yoga pants are all I can muster up for the day.  Under all those things I'm still a woman who needs others.  I need to share life with people.  We get together for so many things, but how often do we get together just for the sheer joy of spending time with others.   I want the freedom to be real and to have others around me do the same and maybe they would even still like me...

Just some thoughts...am I the only one? 

When is enough, enough?

So, I was determined I would never join the world of blogging.  It was crazy, I mean, no one would want to hear my rantings, anyway.  If I've learned anything in my years it's never to start a sentence with, "I will never..."  That's a sure way to find yourself doing something. 

I decided on the name, "Grace for the moment" because that's the way I'm living right now: moment by moment, only by God's Grace.  I'm living in the crazy beautiful days of little ones underfoot and all around.  I love it, but it's hard in the day to day.  I've been told, "The days are long, but the years are short."  I find this especially true today as my oldest turns seven.  Can it really be?  How did those years go so quickly?  Have I told him the important things he needs to hear?  Does he know how much I adore him?  Have I encouraged him in the important heart issues?  Time is slipping away so quickly. 

I had a mild breakdown last night preparing for his birthday today.  It's like I wanted to pour 7 years of love into one day, this day.  I wanted him to feel special...I wanted to give him the world.  In reality, it turned out to be one lone balloon and 4 little gifts.  I wanted to be up before him (he's my early riser) and have his favorite french toast waiting for him.  In reality, he got up before me and made his own toast, as well as some for his sister.  I wanted to take him swimming and to the park and out to eat and anything else he wanted on this birthday.  In reality, we went swimming and brought pizza home for lunch and I was too spent to go do anything else.  I wanted to make him a spectacular dessert that would make him feel like the most favored son on the planet.  In reality, we had root beer floats.  But, do you know what?  That little boy had a GREAT day.  He loved his 4 little gifts.  He was over the moon excited that there was a balloon (even just one) waiting for him when he got up this morning.  He had a great time swimming!  But the best part of the day was when he said, "I really like my presents, but my favorite thing is that you and Dad love me."  O.k. talk about tears. 

You see, my son doesn't have the best mom.  He doesn't have Supermom.  He has me.  I am flawed and I am physically unable to do as much as I would like.  I am easily exhausted and that is exaggerated by having a baby who still gets up at least a time or two every single night.  But I do my best and he sees that.  He saw that I pushed past what I'm normally capable of and gave him my all.  He saw that even though those gifts we gave him were small, they were thought out and things we believed he would love.  And he did. And that tells me, in my heart, that it is enough.  When will we ever learn, in our heart of hearts, that the most important things we give our children are not things?