It’s so hard to be four years old.
It’s exhausting to feel all of the emotions, with all of the intensity that could possibly be mustered, only to have your mother banish you to the dining room until you can pull yourself together.
It’s frustrating to possess the creativity to build a replica of Elsa’s ice castle out of wooden blocks, but not the fine motor skills to prevent you from knocking it over.
It’s maddening to want so badly to help your father move a refrigerator, but, in his estimation, to be too small and fragile (and wiggly?) to be trusted with the task.
But tonight, mostly it’s tragic to have suffered the indignity of standing on your tippy-tippy toes to tuck the hand towel back onto its ring, only to lose your balance…
and reach down to catch yourself…
to find that you didn’t put the toilet lid back down.
It’s so hard to be four.
I know it’s been quiet around here lately. I have lots on my mind, lots I’d like to write, but last week my mother-in-law (who lives with us) underwent a knee replacement surgery. We have family in town to help with her recovery and we’re trying to help in our own ways too. Hopefully soon we’ll all get back to something approaching normal. If you would be so kind, we’d appreciate your prayers that Hilde heals well and gains mobility quickly. Thank you!