And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful
And you may ask yourself-Well…How did I get here?
–Once in a Lifetime, The Talking Heads
This is the song that keeps getting stuck in my head lately, all prompted by a moment that hit last week.
It was late morning on a gorgeous fall day, where the weather is unbelievably perfect and the kids had (wisely) elected to do their reading outside. My son came bounding in and excitedly (yes, excitedly!) launched into his description of what was happening in the book he was reading.
And that was when I was struck, almost physically, with a growing awareness of the absurdity of the entire situation.
I am forty years old, standing in my kitchen, in a county I swore I’d never live in, wearing a baby, listening to my son talk about his reading while his sister reads outside, with homeschool work all over my kitchen counters, and my pharmacist husband working from home in the basement (not in any Walter White way, I swear).
Did I mention I was wearing a baby?
How did I get here?
What’s that quote? Man proposes, God disposes? I’m a planner. I had a plan. I had my life all pretty well mapped out: graduate, live on my own awhile, get married, have babies, adopt some kids, send them all to school and then turn into one of those moms who volunteer incessantly. All of this was to be completed by the time I was thirty. (I do realize my numbers don’t quite add up…I was never very good at math.)
What’s funny, though, is that I wouldn’t trade this. I love this. I love the kids home, I LOVE the hubby home, I (obviously) love the baby….so while I’m not really sure how I got here, it’s proof that I can trust the One who brought me.