Let Them Be Little

I should be asleep right now... but I'm not. I just finished reading on my friend Stephanie's blog. I've written about her before. Her little girl died about two months ago. If you haven't discovered her blog, you should. Tonight I read a post she wrote about patience. She is writing specifically about being patient with our children. And then I read some of the comments others made and one of them alluded to this song. So here I sit contemplating, evaluating, feeling guilty for my lack of patience today but also feeling hopeful for a new day tomorrow.

This feels a bit like plagiarism, but Stephanie specifically said that her readers should feel free to share her posts. So here's a poem that somebody also left as a comment on her post.

COME IN

Come in. But don't expect to find all the dishes done; all floors ashine.
Observe the crumpled rug, the toys galore, the smudgy fingerprinted door.
The little ones we shelter here don't thrive on spotless atmosphere.
They're more inclined to disarray and carefree, even messy play.
Their needs are great, their patience small. All day I'm at their beck and call.
It's "Mommie come" "Mommie see!" Wiggly worms and red-scraped knee.
Painted pictures, blocks piled high, my floors unshined, the days go by.
Some future day they'll flee this nest, and I, at last, will have a rest.
And which really matters more? A happy child or a polished floor?

Author Unknown

I'm sharing this because I needed to read and hear all this tonight. I'm willing to bet some of you do, too.