Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
Monday, the world was covered in ice, or so it seemed. It looked fairly innocent, but as I watched our neighbor skate across the street in his hiking boots I decided I wasn’t braving the roads with the kids. We aren't used to ice storms in Grand Junction, so the storm caught all of us by surprise and resulted in a lot of cars on the side of the road and mismanaged school cancellations. Unlike many people, I was lucky enough to have the day off already, so I called T’s preschool and R’s pediatrician and cancelled, and we all stayed home.
As a teacher, I get a lot of time at home with my kids, even more now because I’m working part time. This is an amazing benefit of the job, and it also allows me to glimpse into the world of the stay-at-home mom. And it allows me to think, “Holy crap, this is maddening/wonderful/soul-crushing/relaxing/boring…” depending on the day. Or the moment. There is no beginning and there is no end when you’re home with the kids. If I’m lucky, there might be thirty minutes in the afternoon where they’re both asleep, and I have a minute to a) fold the laundry residing on the couch b) read my book c) take a nap next to the baby. I usually (always) choose a combination of b and c, because I’m selfish. Often, by the afternoon, I’m so worn out I need a minute to be someone other than a mom, even if the other someone is a bookish nerd or a tired middle-aged woman cuddling a briefly sleeping baby. I often fantasize about being a stay-home-mom, but in my fantasies we have enough money to hire a house cleaner and I get to take the kids to their grandparents a couple times a week, OR my husband also stays at home and we’re all together and happy all the time. My husband has pointed out that both of these scenarios are highly unlikely as he chats with me over a pile of clean socks in the middle of our bed. My fantasies tend to be fantastical. The ice day, however, was special. It was special in its ordinariness. I cleaned the kitchen, sorted some laundry, I even folded one load and put half of it away. T and I played with play-doh, we made an obstacle course with yoga mats, chairs and wood blocks, we ate cheese quesadillas. The baby gobbled up her cereal and mystery puree, she squeaked in delight as T and I raced through the obstacle course in our socks, and in the afternoon, T napped while I rocked R, reading. There are some days, rare days, when I feel deeply the full spectrum of my blessings: warm home, healthy, usually happy kids, good marriage, abundance all around. The icy day was one of those days. Treacherous roads trapped us inside together, and while many others struggled through their days, I got to be at home with my most beloved. There was a part of me that was wise enough to see the day for what it was: a small gift. These days are the ones to tuck away, to pull out when things get tough, and remember how, so often, the best days are the ordinary days.
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