Aaron and I have a concept we initiate, usually when we welcome a new family member in the form of an infant, or when we are tight on money, or when we are exhausted. It’s called “survival.”
The concept is simple: Do the things that you need to do to get through the day. Without of course, violating morals, ethics, or our parenting foundational principles. It’s anything from “lets trade naps for 24 hours straight” or “yes, one more episode of sesame street because it will buy me time to shower.”
With Caden, survival mode lasted until about 7 months, then we hauled out and established a bit more solid of a routine. Then we had Riker, and we are just now starting to figure out how to claw our way out of survival mode.
This usually involves a lot of screaming from the children, as we re-orient their routine to include new things, like less than four hours of Sesame street, or less snacking during the day.
We are in kind of a strange limbo period that seems to happen twice a year, or so. When we don’t really know what’s going on or how we are going to make things happen. These strange times are wonderful for my prayer life, as I often find myself staring out windows or at piles of bills, or a crying Caden who wants yet another hour of Sesame Street to watch asking, “Help me Jesus.”
Because at some point, life has to become more than just surviving. I want to live in joy, and enjoyment, and happiness. This doesn’t mean I run skipping a long the clouds like a demented unicorn. It just means I refuse to go through life hating it. I don’t want to live for Aaron to get home at night, because it means I don’t need to be on call with the kids. I don’t want to live for an hour of “free time” that includes watching tv while playing games on my phone.
Sometimes it’s more important to be alive than it is to be rested.