My life through my own eyes; filled to the brim with excitement and equal measures of chaos. Of course, each morning brings me to its rise with the intoxicating aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee, thanks to the sturdy man who lovingly cares for his wildflower. The next desperate, and half-awake step is in the direction of talking with my Daddy. He is the source of life’s greatest gifts, and the leader and guide to finding peace in the midst of crazy. No sooner have I began to break the surface of this God-breathed word, when noisy footsteps cascade down hardwood stairs. Hands rubbing still waking eyes, and bright smiles meet me at the bottom step with bellies hungry and ready to eat. Four pairs of feet march to the kitchen, fingers pointing in all directions; cereal finds its way out of bowl to floor, milk splashes, spoons clink finding every last bite. Time to brush, and dress for the day is before us. Kisses goodbye to the sturdy man as he heads off to his own type of school, and we begin our school at home. The smallest of the bunch, blonde and proud, brows always finding themselves in a frown, makes the biggest mess you have seen. Toys spread from here to there, no nook or cranny left intact. The more studious of the class gather round the table, laughing, joking, maybe sometimes fighting. I clap my hands and take a vote, which silly song to sing, and which to focus in our praise to God. We make our choice; these hands begin to strum, voices begin to lift and we sing and sing and sing, with everything…Yankee Doodle, Farmer and the Dell, Down by the Bay, and every silly song, belly laughs and bodies flailing. Then we pray and sing our praises to our Creator. This is my favorite part, Amazing Grace becomes our own new song, words crafted from our hearts, blessing our Dad and enjoying His presence. Books we open to check off assignments as we complete, math, science, history, literature, language arts. We do it all, and have so much fun…except for copywork, it always comes with protest. School is mostly conducted from the livingroom nestled on the couch, books and books and more books. Lunch is easy enough, something quick and easy, a real crowd pleaser is rice fried in the wok, we consume a lot of rice. The furrow browed child has never stopped wreaking havoc, but it has come to its end for now, for it is time to lay her down for her beauty slumber. Now comes their favorite time of day and really mine too, three big sisters slip outside for adventurous play with fowl and dirt and imagination. An hour or two passes by like the blink of an eye, baby rouses from her sleep, partly cured of her disagreeable bent, but still bossy, making sure her sisters attend to her particular needs. Most days are peppered with some sass, talking back, lying, and arguments, but full of beautiful conversations, some easy, some hard, all necessary. They are growing and changing, quickly adapting, life is fast and they keep the pace, I struggle moving forward wanting to hold on tight, time slipping through my hands like grains of sand. I must be present. These women I’m raising, they will change the world, and me too. I’m changing my world, their world, even if it’s one mundane day at a time, filled with redundancy and excitement, joy and chaos. These are my days, my struggle and deepest joy, the days I wish to rush and keep, the days for which I am grateful.