Or so they say.
Tonight my children are going to sleep in their own beds. Not without some fight because what kind of kids would I have if they just went to bed without question or delay? (Sick kids--that's what kind of kids they would have to be!)
But tonight I celebrate the endless questions and raised voices and fight over unimportant stuff. I'll even (almost) celebrate the artistic mess left on the dining room table, despite repeated polite requests to pick up the artsy stuff.
Because tonight I know of another mother who doesn't have the luxury of such petty worries. Tonight this mother and father are sitting in the hospital with two of their children. Such a beautiful family, a family in so much pain right now.
Just yesterday we were all at the soccer field. Their youngest daughter and my oldest had a game. All the parents and siblings were there. . .my younger girls, their older girls, their youngest child (the lone boy in the crowd). Looking back I realize how rare it is that all eleven of us make it to a game at the same time; usually somebody is missing, playing chauffeur no doubt for another one of the kids. But for that idyllic moment we were two families basking in the early afternoon sunlight.
But sometime after that something went terribly wrong. Two of their babies landed in the hospital, one with serious injuries.
My heart aches for them.
Keeping them in my prayers that they will all get back to sleeping under one roof again soon and back to the moments of thinking "I'm going to miss this?"
Postscript/Update--one of the girls is home from the hospital; apparently the other one is not as bad off as was reported yesterday.
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