This past Sunday I woke, (or chose to end the dreadful night, whichever term you prefer) with an achy body, a stuffy nose and red burning eyes.  I withered away over the next three days, hardly lifting my head from the couch.  Foggy head diaper changing, the house going to shambles, no baths, no baking, no knitting, no singing.  A fever that lasted on and on settled into my bones.  I couldn’t keep the fire warm enough to chase the chills away.  My boys brought me cups of water while I wallowed on the couch and made by bed for me.  They even placed an extra blanket atop saying it was to keep me “safe and warm”. They played independently in a way I couldn’t have requested. They just knew it was what they had to do.

And of course, when I wrenched my head out of the abyss of illness come Wednesday morning, I looked around and did what us mothers do very well: I shamed myself.  My eyes registered the piles of dishes, the intensely large pile of laundry, the overwhelming pile of “crafts” growing in the craft room and I gasped.  Even with a sickness thick around my neck I felt the twinges of do more and be more creep in.  I wandered over and swept up the pieces of the craft room that didn’t seem to belong to any specific project, and rearranged the table before quickly retreating back to my place on the couch, baby on lap, tea in hand.  I felt so discouraged and overwhelmed.  But before I had time to settle into the familiar cycle of giving myself grief, I had a bowl cut boy grinning ear to ear standing in front of me holding up a card that read, “Thank-you-thor-clenin-up-mama. I love you mama!”.  Tears just about exploded out my ducts as I laughed at my prior feelings of inadequacy.  I need not be everything.  I need not be anything at all.  Luckily, gratefully, I have three beautiful reminders that I am enough tugging at my heartstrings constantly.

This morning I woke up to a husband who has returned from a week-long work trip, fresh made maple syrup, the same messy house, the same dirty sweet boys, and a foggy, rainy day.  New bird songs wail through the trees and the sound of mud squelches under our boots.  My hair was wet by the time I scaled the slushy snow hill to the chicken coop from the dripping wet air. It’s the change of season.  The time of year where putting up with the long winter days, the negative temperatures, the ice-cold wind, the long nights of feeding a fire; They all become completely worth it.  And these are the things I will remember. These are the things that are important.  The fresh wet air after a sickness.  That cup of water.  That beautiful reminder.

That I am enough.

(And PS so are you)