My (sippy) cup runneth over

My general take on life is that it's nothing without laughter. That every day should have at least one good chuckle in it. That being said, I can't help but be solemn for a minute, and the reason is this:  In this hyper-connected world we live in, we see an abundance of sadness. And to be quite honest, I sometimes have a hard time processing the sheer extent of it. There are moments where time stands still, and you can't help but feel your vulnerability. For me (for everyone?), Sandy Hook was decidedly one of those moments. Innocent faces that mirrored my own child of the same age, parents who looked and seemed a whole lot like me. I was changed. Forever. Since then, life has seemed more fragile.

Now, more recently, I find myself again surrounded by some of the saddest stories of loss. These stories also hitting so very close to home. Young mothers. Young fathers. Babies. Children. Siblings. Every day, it seems, there is another story in which I can see myself. It is near impossible to consider the rhyme and (lack of) reason of it; the randomness of it. And just the bare truth of it, which is the absolute, deepest, most profound sadness that some families must face. It makes my heart hurt to even consider.

Then, the piece of it that really takes my breath away. The families. The survivors. These same souls who are in so much pain and find themselves amidst suffering of the worst sort. Some of these mothers, these fathers, putting forth the most heartfelt messages, the most positive words of strength and survival, and they send these messages of love and hope out into the world. As if to help comfort the rest of us, those of us on the sidelines who should be comforting, not comforted. To remind those of us as of yet personally unaffected by such grief to slow down. To remember that this day, this hour that we're living right now? This is life. Grab each moment as it is, for these moments are nothing if not fleeting.

These stories, so full of grief, and these messages, so full of hope, they have led me to this. To take the advice given and to move through the world with open eyes and an open heart. So I make this promise to myself and my family, so blessed are we to have each other. I will take each moment as I can, the good, the bad, and the crazy, and I will choose to be thankful. I will choose to embrace it all. Life, it would seem, is too short to do it any other way.

So I will be thankful for the fighting in the living room, the wrestling that starts out playful but ends up dangerously not so. Because my children are together, and fighting or not, they love each other.

So I will be thankful for the ridiculousness that is our living room, where you must proceed carefully through the cars (by the hundreds) and the trucks (by the thousands) and the blocks and the balls and the legos and the movies (that they are not supposed to touch) and the cups (that most surely have leaked) and the hammers and the capes and the hockey sticks, just to make it to the couch. Because, tidy or not, it's life.

So I will be thankful for our kitchen table, so covered is it with crayons and papers that I have cleared and organized just moments ago, but somehow the piles always seem to return sevenfold. Because this is what creativity looks like.

So I will be thankful for the strong-willed seven year old's battles, during which he refuses to don any article of clothing that is not of or pertaining to a sport. Because it shows his passion.

So I will be thankful for the strong-willed four year old's battles, during which he refuses to don any article of clothing that is not of or pertaining to superheroes. Because it shows his innocence.

So I will be thankful for the hugs and the kisses and the smiles and the giggles and the crazy hair on our baby boy. I will even be thankful for his temper, which grows feistier by the day. Because as long as he is healthy, nothing else matters.

So I will be thankful for the mind-numbing haze that comes with raising young children, feeling like nothing I do is right. Every once in a while, I can see a glimmer of the truth that it's not so bad after all, and I can appreciate that it's a gift to spend my days wading through this messy business called life. Because this is what it's really all about.

So I will be thankful for it all. And I will think often of those who live the grief that we ponder and who still think to remind the rest of us that this thing, this decision to pause, to cherish and hold tight? This we must do.

So I will.