No Words Left

Here's the truth: I am tired and talked out by the end of the day. No words left. This is why I haven't been blogging lately. I had no idea being a mother would do this to me. I give all or most of my words to my 6-, almost-4-, and almost-2-year-old each and every day, not to mention to my not-quite-talked-out 44-year-old. :)

"Is that a loving way to talk to your sister, Abby?"

"Be responsible with your shoes, please, Esther."

"We DO NOT hit!! Would you like it if she did that to you?"

"Would you like me to read this book to you, Caleb?"

"How was your day?"

"What did you learn today?"

"Go have a time-out and think about what you did."

"Finish your food, please, Abby."

"Sit down in your chair."

"What was your favorite part of the day?"

"You need to have a talk with God about your attitude."

And on, and on . . .

And then there's being talked at all day. I say "talked at" because many times they don't even look to see if you're listening. And that's good because a lot of the time I'm not; words just bounce off walls around here. It's not that I'm intentionally not listening either. I literally cannot listen to three people talking at once. It's just mentally and physically not possible. And then sometimes I've just had an earful. My listening tank is full, and I'm looking for a place to empty it, or at least a second or two to process. I tell Esther not to repeat the question six times; just give Mommy a second to process her question before answering. She loves to talk. She wakes up talking and goes to bed talking. I gave her one minute of quiet time in the car the other day, to see if she could not talk for one whole minute. I initially started with three minutes, but from the look of shock on her face, I could see this was going to be an impossibility. She was quiet for all of ten seconds (no, probably less), and then she said, "I can't do this."

This isn't forever, I hope. But this is how life is for me at the moment. Very full. Full with life. Full of ups and downs. Full of teaching and training. And absolutely brimming over with words. This sounds like a complaint, but it's really not. It's an explanation of my silence. It's not that I don't love you. It's that I don't have words left for you at the end of a very verbally taxing day.