I don't know what's to blame
be it the gray bleakness of atypical April skies
or lost car keys
or mounding to-do lists
or if it's the byproduct of having scrubbed down a poop-spreading toddler and his poop-painted walls for the fifth time in so many days.
All I know is that by 3:09 p.m. Friday I'm asking God if He could just help me hold it all together for just awhile longer ...
I crave 4:30.
I daydream, eyes closed in effort to lessen the strain spread out across my forehead, about my white-car driving knight pulling into the driveway, tapping on a locked glass door to be let inside, joining me in the wildness of long days with little boys
so we can tie this day together
with palms pressed together, fingers laced.
