It's too much and I'm too tired.  The fixing of one mess only leads to the recognizing of another, which I start to remedy only to find a third.  By the time I get to the end of the domino effect, my knees are sore, my head is pounding, and four children have called me forty-seven times and why can't I ever just finish one thing before I start another - if I could remember that one thing in the first place.  It's too much and I'm too tired and the peanut m&ms I'm popping on the way through the kitchen don't even help anymore.  Papa, I can't do this anymore because on top of it all are the things that actually matter.  Like respect and compassion, kindness and love, honesty and integrity.  Or heck, even just table manners.  I can't shape their behaviour and pour into their hearts and pick up their stuff and make their snacks and sing their songs and delight in their ideas and photograph their moments and appreciate their presence and do their laundry and meet their needs.  Papa, it's too much and I'm too tired and can't she just sleep through the night and can't they just pick up their own damn toys and wet towels and listen the first time?  Papa, where is Your glory or Your grace or Your goodness or any of You in all of this?