I don’t want to do it all.

I’m sitting here on my bed, watching some mindless show on TLC and gearing up to finish a month’s worth of homeschool planning. The house is silent, as my dear husband has taken all the children to the church picnic. I’ll be joining them in about an hour, but I plan on leaving after an hour or so and coming back home again, alone, to enjoy the silence.

I feel vaguely guilty about this. I’m used to being able to do it all– wake up on a Sunday morning, get four kids dressed, breakfasted, and out the door in time for Sunday School, supervise nursery or keep everyone in line during church, come home and organize lunch, and have no problem being out the door again three hours later for a picnic. But today? I am just way too tired.  And, to be honest, I am enjoying the quiet way too much.

Early on in this pregnancy, I thought a lot about what God was trying to teach me. Three things came to mind…

Slow down.

Ask for help.

Let things go.

None of these tasks is particularly easy for me.

And I think, almost worse than not being able to do it all, is the realization that, for the first time ever in my life, I don’t even want to do it all. I like my naps. I’m enjoying the slower pace. I’ve so learned to appreciate my husband and  friends and family who have stepped in and offered to lend a helping hand. I’ve even started to understand why some homeschoolers stay in their jammies until noon.

Still, it’s hard. I have so many ideas in my head of things I want to do with the children, things I must do to get ready for the babies, books I want to write and recipes I want to try and crafts I want to make. But then I realize that a huge part of sorting out my priorities is triaging what really must be done, what I actually want to do, and what I’m adding to my plate based on nothing more than a misguided sense of what I have to do in order to be considered a good mom.

So, I here I sit, concentrating greatly on the task of being “good enough.” I’m amazed at how these two little lives, so small and so helpless, are already changing me and my family. I think about all the small joys we’ve found as a family in the little things, the small victories, the simple times together.

I slow down.

I ask for help.

I let things go.