Today is Saturday. I woke this morning with supreme optimism…I will clean the entire house! I will haul the Christmas stuff from the barn! I will sew! I will bake bread!
Soon enough my people woke and stumbled downstairs and ate the eggs I cooked that were beyond overhard. Then I swept the floor and Henry pouted about not being able to build a huge Lego set that is his brothers.
Then I was tired.
So I wonder am I really tired? Or is it just watching all the energy of my children that makes me tired? I will never match their mad skills of running full speed to be first outside or riding bikes up and down the driveway enough to equate the Tour de France.
Sometimes it’s hard to be a mother/wife in limbo. It’s obvious what needs doing but what you really want to do is go to the candy shop on Main St and buy candy for a gingerbread house that you are determined to make this year but by Dec 23 you kind of realize that you won’t and all that glorious by the pound candy is sitting in the dark hutch drawer in your dining room.
This is how I live my life, it can be the candy store, the fabric store, the craft store. When I was first married I followed through on my projects 100% of the time. I would save and purchase and create with such determination that it makes me nauseous to even think about it. I remember looking at stale mothers who had kids with unmatched clothes and boogers and thinking with a shudder how that would never be me.
But sometimes I feel like the train is pulling into the booger station and it’s my kids who are about to climb aboard. Some days when I am buried under the proverbial mountain of laundry I open my eyes and see Henry wearing pants that are too short and tiny shirts that dig into his armpits. Poor Henry! How did this happen?!
There is a whole list of reasons why this happens, and the more I study my own list the more it makes me appreciate my kids.
Instead of joining a playgroup I would much rather join a group of mothers of large families… we could get really loud and try to top each others stories. None of us would have manicures or even a decent haircut for that matter. Many would be wearing clothes our teenagers didn’t want and we would all most definitely be wearing comfortable shoes. We would tell our kids to go outside. They wouldn’t be whiny though, they wouldn’t squeal for snacks and they would climb trees way up high. They would create games to play amongst themselves. They would build a fort with stuff from the woods and tie the pieces with proper knots made from vines. One of us mothers would have a pack of graham crackers in a purse made of faux leather that the kids would open and divvy up evenly. They would break each cracker into four small rectangles perfectly because they had lots of practice doing that.
And I suppose that is why I love having a big family. As much as my instinct is to have a clean house I would much rather have plenty of little armed hugs, even if they struggle to put their arms around your growing belly and wipe their nose on your shirt in the process.