What is the greatest gift my children have given me?
The joy of loving life. The gift of discovery. The reverence of my breath. The awakening to motherhood.
What do I appreciate most about my children?
The awe with which we encounter each day as an adventure. The enthusiasm with which they choose to explore both the seen and the unseen of the universe. The magnitude of their vast souls housed within tiny bodies. Their ferocity, vivaciousnous, and strength.
However, we also are not lacking in love. For that, my gratitude runs deep. We are surrounded by a happy chaos that echoes in laughter, buffered by hugs. The tears are shrouded in empathy as we have finally created a sanctuary within the world.
They come to me and say profound things like, “I am beautiful.”
That doesn’t even begin to describe who and what you are to the world, child.
My oldest son’s bedroom is the dining room because he doesn’t want to share a bedroom with his little brother.
There is a train track set up in our hallway. The bulky German Shepherd often trips over it, much to the little one’s despair.
We should be moving in a little over a month if everything goes as planned. I will appreciate having bedrooms being bedrooms and dining rooms being dining rooms. Oh, and a yard. My dearest universe, thank you for blessing us with a potential yard.
We ate lunch at Red Robin and dinner at Chipotle today. My husband made pancakes from a package this morning for breakfast. I think one of the boys left their glass of milk on the counter. It’s still “fermenting.” We ignored my rule of no trans fats while indulging in bottomless fries.
Sundays are my dietary compromise days with the husband and kids.
The midwife came and did my check up. I hadn’t showered yet so I hurriedly brushed my hair and teeth. My husband quickly tossed all of the toys into a grocery bag and put them in the back bedroom. I turned off the light to the kitchen hoping that would somehow make the caked on pancake batter adorning the stovetop invisible.
It’s 9:30 PM and my 3 year old still isn’t asleep. He has a cough and wind chap on his mouth and cheeks. His new favorite word is “butthole.” He learned it from the 12 year old because he was likely behaving like a “butthole.” Most three year olds have that hidden potential beneath a thick layer of cute.
My husband and I lay on the floor while he quietly whispers to himself. Some nights we fall asleep. Other nights we read books.
Tonight I’m writing about my small yet monumental blessings as my husband snores. He took over childcare duty most of the weekend so I could nap and read books.
We aren’t perfect, but we are living perfection to me. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I am learning to cherish these moments one deep breath at a time.
I choose joy.