What Time Doesn't Remember

I've been thinking a lot about time lately.

Primarily because we decided to tag along on one of my husband's business trips last week, one time zone behind, AND in the same week that Daylight Savings Time ended. Which means we are clinically insane.

It also means my children were up at DARK-THIRTY every single day. In a hotel room where they had to be quiet and calm (I have four boys. Yeah - there's that.) - lest we get the dreaded "The people in Room 204 complained that the elephants you're housing are stomping above them making TOO MUCH NOISE" front desk phone call, and we end up next to those kind and gracious people in Room 204 at the lobby breakfast giving us the "Oh, it was them that use no birth control" staredown of disdain.

Can you tell I've been here before?

Some days, each minute feels like an hour (Oh, hello 4am hotel room with five kids), and I feel like I'm wishing time away. Days like,"WHO POOPED AND DIDN'T WIPE? Or FLUSH?"

Days like, "Dinner? What's that? Was I supposed to do something?"

Days like, "I cannot deal with the maniac hormones that are raging in my 10 year-old can we PLEASE just get to bedtime YES LORD thank you and Amen."

These days of motherhood. They are the daily, minute-by-minute sanctifying space that God is using to slow me down, teach me, love me into His arms for guidance and patience and a good dose of "It's not about you, Sar."

These days of motherhood. They pile on one another and before I realize they're gone - a week, a month, a year.

Years.

I sat and stared at six years of life last night. I was working on a school project with my little Lincoln. He had to create a timeline of his life so we chose some photos and memories and things that make him - Lincoln.

"Oh, Mom. We HAVE to find the one where I fell asleep in my chair. Oh, and the one of me with Pappy and Gram."

Yes. Of course. We must.

I sat staring at that timeline long after he'd gone to bed.

Do you know what time doesn't remember?

The pee on the toilet seat.
The looooong nights of newborn feeding.
The fighting.
The squabbles.
The laundry and dishes and drudgery.
The overdue bills.
Work stress.
Lost shoes.
Lost tempers.

It doesn't remember:

The dirty floors
The spilled milk.
And the nights I cried hot tears over not being able to manage it all.

And, it sure as hell doesn't remember the people in Room 204.

Those hard things?

It isn't that mothers forget them all. We shouldn't dare. Because those hard things let us take the hand of another mother and say:

I have been there, friend.
I know.
I was so tired when he was first born.
I never showered either.
I know ten is a HARD age.
Oh, mama of boys - Clorox wipes are your BEST FRIEND when pee hits the wall.

If those hard things are good for anything, let them be GOOD for loving and encouraging the mamas God puts in our paths.

Because time?

GOD BLESS IT - it will remember the joy.