Being tired is the badge of any mom. It's the one thing that unites us no matter what our views on parenting are. We can raise our fists in unity as well kick back gallons of caffein and plaster concealer under the tired bags under our eyes. 

The other day I was having coffee with a friend and the subject of having more babies came up. I'm 33 with three crazy boys who, mind you, still ALMOST NEVER sleep through the night. I honestly think I would go for a fourth if sleep, or lack there of wasn't such a bog deal. How can these cute little crack monkeys zap me of everything??? It's the joy of motherhood and it was on my friends couch with w tall triple shot pumpkin spice latte in hand that I decided no more babies will exit my tired box... yeah, I said it... just trying to see if you're still awake.

After a few nights of 2 of my boys reverting back to newborn sleep habits I was done... yesterday I woke up snarling and I knew it was going to be one of "those" days. I can't really name anything that went terribly wrong throughout the morning... I was just edgy. The little boys went to preschool and my older son had a friend over, I let them skip homeschool  focus on social development and they did great, but I was just in a funk. When I dropped our friends to their house my friend Heather handed me a bottle of wine and said she felt like she should be giving it to me with a straw. Apparently the level of my funk was quite obvious.

Later that day I was making dinner when I heard the sound of shattering glass and screaming straight out of a horror movie. I felt like my legs had anvils on them as I raced back to my bathroom where the crash had come from. It still makes my stomach churn to talk about. My seven year old had been taking a shower and walked out of my bathroom covered in blood. He had slipped and shattered the 1/4 inch thick glass shower door. He's totally ok... the blood was from a few cuts on his fingers and foot... no stitches were required, just hours of cleaning up tiny shards of glass. But honestly those few seconds of not knowing what had happened, just seeing my baby boy dripping with blood changed me. The "what if's" that went through my mind for the rest of the night continued that change. It could have been bad... like really bad... it's amazing how a split second can change everything. Last night as we were tucking the little crack monkeys in, their prayers just sounded sweeter, the little "amen" song they sing all together as they snugged in, just about turned me into a puddle and I had to fight to hold it together. 

So what, that I will probably be tired for the next 12-15 years?? So what, that they make messes and break absolutely anything in their paths?? These boys are my treasures... my gifts from God... they're my wonder boys and I they are everything to me. It took a close call to snap me out of the funk I was in... but today I am praising God that it was just that... a close call. As long as they live in my house it will be filled with chaos and fighting and yelling and did I mention chaos??? And today at least I am so very grateful for it all!