It's Not About The Lips

We almost had an argument in the car this morning about who has had dry lips the longest. Yessa and Buster were attaching a timeline to their dry lips, and mine. Discussion was getting heated.

I was just about too say dismissively, “Who cares?! It’s just dry lips.”

Then I realized, it’s not about the lips.

It was a rough morning at our house. Monkey’s introvert battery is running low. Buster had his feelings hurt and was feeling fragile. Yessa’s attempts to help were sharply rebuffed, and I was little support to anyone as I ran around stripping beds and making sure people had socks for rock climbing.

It wasn’t the dry lips.

It was a need to be heard and respected and reassured of the value you hold in our family.

So we talked through the dry lips, and came to consensus on who had them longest. Monkey was able to escape into her own world in her kindle, gaining a small measure of balance. We listened to each other.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot for climbing, we were laughing about silly things, and feeling connected. A little more balanced, a lot more settled in our skins.

We walked in the door, holding hands, ready to take on the final climbing class. Ready to take on the world.