Monday through Friday, I wake up, shower, grab coffee, dress for work, wake the boys, and have the same daily arguments on getting dressed, brushing teeth, going to the bathroom, making bed. Two drop-offs while fighting the morning commute. Work eight hours. Two pick-ups while fighting the evening commute.
Home is making the same rotation of meals, listening to the school day conversations, attempting a family meal, some play time mixed in, bath, books, and bed. I toss in a load of laundry or a toilet cleaning randomly.
It is the same thing. Over and over again. The same plans. The same routine. The same meltdowns and tantrums. Quite boring, really.
I remember in the early days of motherhood and being a stay-at-home mom, I thought this is so boring. Dull. A little lifeless. Confining. Stifling. Is this what motherhood looks like? What parenthood looks like? A daily schedule that sucks so much energy out of me? It is a life my then-husband could not live with; He needed more adventure and excitement. Being a parent is not full of the rush and acceleration he craves. Therefore, I live the mundane life of single motherhood.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I like to sprinkle a little spice into our routine. A picnic outside. A day trip to the zoo. Thanksgiving in Chicago. On the weekends, we like to sit in our underwear and watch cartoons with our morning coffee. Crazy, right?
Sigh. Just writing this makes me a little sad. It is so routine. It is so stable. It is so consistent. It is so boring. Yet, my sons are flourishing in this life. Their personalities are blossoming and blooming. They crave the known. Who is picking them up everyday. Who is kissing their hurts and reading the books. Who is tucking them into bed. The ordinary day we have is their home. Their safety net. Their constant.
So I push forward. Most mornings, I almost cry thinking here we go again. Today is going to be the same as yesterday and the yesterday before that. With a heavy heart, I pack my lunch, kiss the boys goodbye, work the daily grind. Come home again tired. Exhausted from the office life only to transition into the same motherhood routine.
Yet, this time, my oldest son reads a book to me at bedtime. He didn’t fight me when I told him to brush his teeth. This is new. My four-year-old told a really funny joke at supper. I noticed he is becoming the little comedian. He wanted to hold my hand for a bit before he fell asleep. Unprompted, he said I love you Mommy. Something he has never done before.
A few nights later, our supper conversation didn’t revolve around poop and pee jokes. We talked about God and what Heaven would look like. The three of us went for an evening walk. We found sticks, leaves, and pretty colored rocks. Bedtime was actually peaceful. This night was different.
The next day starts out the same. Wake up. Shower. Grab coffee. Little arms wrapping around my waist while rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Sloppy kisses goodbye. Work for a company that values family and me. Two pick-ups where green and brown eyes light up when they see me. Running into my arms for a hug. Home for supper. Around a table where we hold hands in prayer. Playing baseball and watching my boys with a huge smile on my face. Bathtime is bubbles and laughter. Reading books together on the bed. Laying side to side. Saying the memorized words out loud. Bedtime kisses and hugs. Mommy, will you lay with me just a little longer? One more kiss? I love you , Mommy.
It is the same thing, over and over again. The same kisses. The same hugs. The same love. Quite wonderful, really.
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