Lord, beer me strength.

any office fans in the congregation today? i was reminiscing about the good old days, back when jim and pam were still flirty and cute, back when michael scott still "ran" things, back when an episode of the office was enough to turn my day right side up.

(i know that some of you might still be fans. i personally never forgave the writers for an apocalyptic failure of a wedding for jim and pam. after that epic mess, it was never the same and i soon jumped ship for greener pastures).

now, what could this have to do with anything, you might ask? why the sudden nostalgia for better days of tv comedies?

i am currently listening to my nearly three year old talk to himself in his room, or more accurately, talk to his two favorite cars of the moment, batman and the girlfriend.

what should he be doing?

napping. which he is not. which he totally should be.

i am slowly, excruciatingly, sometimes resentfully, resigning myself to the fact that my lil guy is growing up, and might be out-growing the glorious 3 hour nap i've relished thus far in his existence.

God help us all.

i've tried so many tricks and tactics to get him to nap:

threats, rewards, new toys (a clock that has a picture of a sleeping and an awake bunny), extra sippy cups of milk to promote full and sleepy bellies, promises of candy, constant return to his room when he emerges with the refrain of "i dooooooooooooooooone sleeping!"

Lord, beer me strength. (~jim halpert) 

i firmly believe that he still needs some kind of nap.

i firmly believe with every fiber of belief in my being,
that i still desperately need him to take a nap.

and yet, there he is. still not napping, still chatting up the batmobile and his lovely lady friend.

the problem is that he'll spend the rest of the day either a) incredibly grouchy, b) ridiculously needy, c) appallingly wired, or some absurd combo of the 3.

what's a tired mama to do??!

i choose to love.

this has not been my best lent.

i'll admit, lent has always been a challenge for me - i generally begin with the best of intentions, seeking to draw nearer to the lord, carry his cross with him, offer up every hurt and travail for those i love, and make intense sacrifice.

i usually last a week or two, and fall off the spiritual wagon so to speak.

this lent, i honestly didn't even put much thought or effort into what that perfect lenten sacrifice would be. this year, there would be no giving up candy, no sacrificing my caffeine, no getting up extra early to pray or limiting myself to cold showers.

this lent, i had my brand new baby to keep me on my knees.

and it's taken me til now, holy thursday, the cusp of the triduum, to realize the great sacrifice that motherhood in and of itself is. i was berating myself for weeks for failing at lent, for failing to come before the lord with something to offer, for failing to even devote a few extra moments to him in quiet prayer.

and then i realized that for the last two months, i have had no quiet. i have had no extra energy. i have had a baby and a small boy on my hands.

i am living my vocation as a mother to two little boys. i am living one day at a time, striving to learn how better to love my kiddos and my husband. i am surviving on interrupted rem cycles, chain-chugging coffee, and frantic whispers to heaven for grace and patience.

and somehow the lord finds me acceptable and worthy, if only when bathed in the light of his grace.

there will be time enough for daily rosaries, diligent fasts, and devoted prayer time. right now, my mission is not to allow my exhaustion to overshadow my love. i choose to play with my son instead of checking my phone for facebook notifications. i choose to gaze into my baby's eyes as he nurses instead of reading my novel. i choose to embrace my husband as he arrives from work and listening to his account of his day instead of bombarding him with my weariness and challenges.

i choose to live my love. the rest will come in time.

lord, let it be enough that i freely choose to surrender, to give it all to you.
my walls come tumbling down. 
i surrender, lay my life at your feet, dying to myself yet again.