We were at soccer practice one night and Caedmon had to go to the bathroom (of course). So, carrying Honor on my hip with Caedmon’s hand in mine, we headed over toward the restroom. We passed a man sitting in the back of his truck in a lawn chair (don’t ask) watching the older kids practice. He could hear Caedmon chattering away, asking questions one right after the other, while I was answering and wiping slobber off Honor’s chin. He smiled and commented, “You’ve got your hands full.”
Yes, yes I do. Thanks for noticing.
I’ve heard that comment before, and even said it a few times myself. Personally, I think any Momma has her hands full, no matter if she has one kid or several. Some just have to move faster than others to keep up.
And the man was making an observation, not an offer to help. Which was fine. I would’ve declined anyway. (I couldn’t have a strange man helping Caedmon in the bathroom or holding my baby.) But it was nice for someone to recognize that at that moment, life was a little challenging. Not that I need constant affirmation, but it’s nice now and then.
To me, the full hands represent something more than a challenging moment. More than figuring out a way to take the 4 year-old to the bathroom (that was less than sanitary) while holding the baby. More than snotty noses, slobbery chins, scraped knees, mountains of laundry, and a constant trail of crumbs. To me, it means that my heart is pretty full as well.
Full of love, laughter, and excitement. Full of exploring the world through the eyes of my kids as they see and learn things for the first time. Full of doing things I’ve never done before with them and because of them. Full of amazement and excitement over things I quit thinking were cool long ago. Full of watching them interact and learn what it means to be a big brother and a little sister. Full of the privilege of teaching them about Jesus and His love for them.
Yes, my hands are full. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.