Mothering

I found myself wandering around the house deep sighing all day today. I had to clean the house for a showing (don't get me started on the depths of inconsideration shown me by the property manager and showing realtors-- the one today left the front door COMPLETELY AJAR through the whole showing-- excuse me, who is paying for the air conditioning? and did you think about the mosquitos that will be draining my children's blood all night?-- I guess I got myself started ), think more about packing and arranging, then I got distracted and flooded the kitchen. Then the boys made a colossal mess in the basement-- the playroom, with their toys-- as little boys do.

I sighed my way through picking it up while Luke followed me around apologizing for making the mess. Then I saw the ridiculousness of the situation. Kids should be allowed to play with their toys. Clean up should happen cheerfully and together. I mean, c'mon here Carrie-- you had those sweet boys, just enjoy them. Enough with the sighs and the furrowed brow.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the lofty ideals that I started this whole parenting journey with. I have held to a lot of them and on my good days I see that I am getting there and approaching the parent that I want to be. Then there are days like today-- where reality gets in the way of ideal. When I was imagining the perfect mother I would be I wasn't envisioning all the moves, the uncertainty, disappointments and the endless and clumsy transitions from one stage to the next. This has to be the real test, mothering well through tough times.

I always feel, however, that bedtime affords a chance at reconciliation. Isaac has a way of melting into me and staring at me while we read, sing and pray that makes up for all the climbing, messing and toilet flushing he does during the day (he, by the way, told me he had to pee, climbed up onto the potty and peed last night). Noah slowly smiles at me while I tell him how much I love him and then asks for kisses on his buttery smooth cheeks and forehead, grinning as he points out all the places that need just one more kiss. Luke lies still while I read him the final chapter of Indian in the Cupboard and scratch his back. He yawns as we discuss Omri's decision to send Little Bear back to his own time. Then there are the sweet, sincere prayers he offers-- they just make me crumble. I read him a scripture aloud as he falls asleep and he repeats it back until the yawns get too long and his eyes too heavy. This is what it is all about. Those boys are such a precious gift and their childhood is just too fleeting for me to be sighing my way through it. Here's to more smiles and less sighing tomorrow.