I woke up to the first rays of morning light diffused through our bedroom window. It’s been such a long winter, oh how I appreciate the sunlight and the above zero temperatures.
Wiping sleep from my eyes and patting down wisps of crazy hair, I walk down the stairs to the kitchen. Why is every light on? I remark inwardly that my oldest son must have gotten up for his 11 p.m. snack of a couple of buns with melted peanut butter. As my coffee brews, I look out into the back yard willing the grass to turn from brown to green. I decide I’ll go look for patches of green later in the day, the firsts signs of spring will melt the icicles off of any Albertan’s heart.
Coffee in hand, I check my calendar to see what is on the agenda for this week. I always feel one step behind with work, kid’s after-school stuff, and kid’s school assignments. I mentally take note of this week’s tasks: 2 photo shoots (pretty excited for these), a school bake sale, my first attempt at hot yoga with a friend, Volunteer tea at the school, School forms to hand in, and packing to visit family for Easter. No one tells you that you will feel like you are going back to school when you have kids.
I feel that familiar nagging sense…the monkey that was chillin’ in the corner, meanders over, wraps his little monkey hands around my long neck and then settles onto my back. Hello Monkey on my back, haven’t felt you for a day.
I wonder what about this week makes me feel this way. Almost all of those tasks are doable. I am after all a grown ass woman with the capacity to juggle. I decide it’s the bake sale. It wasn’t until I volunteered to hand out bake sale items years ago that I understood the pressure that can come with such a little assignment. To see the kid’s faces when a Mom puts in extra effort to make a seasonal treat is pretty cute. Kids will also turn into socialite snobs if the treats don’t live up to their refined sugar-lovin’ palate.
You see, a week ago, at 8:20 a.m. (10 minutes before the kids leave for school), my son moseys into the kitchen and announces that he needs bake sale items for that morning. Mother Hubbard!!! As I was hastily making popcorn and looking for some sort of worthy receptacle to house the popping buggers, my son giggles and says “silly me Mom, it’s next Wednesday but I’ll take that popcorn in my lunch. Cool?!”
Back to this morning, in the words of my Dad “I beam up the internet computer” to search for an Easter themed bake sale item on Pinterest. My sorting parameters are this: quick, under 5 baking ingredients, preferably no oven required, but still worthy to bring an oooooooh or an ahhhhhh out of a Kindergarten’s mouth hole. I find the addition of chocolate can produce this result.
I decide on this little diddy…
Perfecto. A while ago, the parent’s association sent a letter home that bake sale were now going to be healthy items. So I made a healthy item, and tried to push my healthy fair (like that shady puppet on Sesame street trying to sell an “O”) among the table of cupcakes and chocolate cookies only to bring those healthy treats home with me.
Pssssttttt…how would ya like to buy a healthy treat?! Circular and not sweet…
Sorry, I can’t compete with cupcakes. I’ll add some oats to chocolate and call it a day.
I inwardly congratulate myself on not being a loser Mom today, because that’s how I felt last week. My house was in shambles, laundry piled to the roof while I compiled a year’s worth of tax receipts. I missed sending the registration to school for my son’s introduction into Junior High next year. The finale was on one special night when I awoke to the melodic sounds of a puking shitting dog. Yay. On the day my dog blew up, I had convinced myself his kidneys were shutting down by the end of day. I stalked him in our yard and didn’t see him pee once. Turns out he ate garbage because I left the door open a crack. I like to think he sauntered up to the slightly ajar cupboard door, opened his little dog peepers real big and said “hmmmm, what do we have here?”. Then he quietly opens it with his little paw hand like a human (he stands upright at this point) tenderly picking out garbage food. Sets himself a miniature dog table where he cuts garbage food with a fork and knife after tying a mini handkerchief around his hairy chest.
Anywhoooo, I wasn’t a loser today. Nope, I was calm, collected and competent. Look at me pinning recipes like a Martha.
Wrapped in her favourite fluffy blanket, my daughter shuffled slowly into my office and leaned into me cheek first. That’s how she hugs. She leans in, clenches her eyes, and waits for her hug and kiss. It’s adorable.
I yell up the stairs to my other two sleeping kids and start on breakfast. My son Lukey comes down already dressed and ready to attack the day with his trademark unbridled energy. I told myself I wouldn’t be that Mom who would make different things for each kid, yet here I was getting cereal with OJ for one and a peanut butter bun with bananas for another. It’s just easier that way. One size does not fit all in this house. Lukey loves left overs, it’s not uncommon to walk into the kitchen first thing and see him bellied up to the island eating mashed potatoes and steak.
My oldest son listens to Metallica while he gets ready. He yells a good-bye as he sprints out the door and revs up his ’87 Chevy to go to high school. He’s a great kid with a killer sense of humour. I wonder how he became so responsible. Lord knows I wasn’t as responsible at his age. I decide to apologize to my parents next time I see them for not being a responsible teen. I may even buy them a greeting card. Note to self: buy a greeting card suitable to wash away 18 years of frustrated memories. I wonder if perhaps my parents have forgotten the time I convinced my sister to tie sheets together and climb out the second story bedroom window. I am thankful the wood pallets broke her fall. I also wonder why my parents never replaced that chunk of carpet in their bedroom I burned while lighting kleenex on fire. One has a hard time forgetting that when you step on a burnt patch of carpet right beside your own bed for years.
Off track again…
I start on the younger kid’s lunches, sign agendas and out-dated forms with a hand-written “hope it’s not too late to hand in”. I always add a smiley face because I figure that will make it better. The smiley face is a lost art. My favourite thing to do to my husband is to add a smiley face and dot his “I” with a heart after he signs the bill at restaurants. ha! What an ass I am.
I realize we are running late. I brush the knots out of my daughter’s hair while she shrugs her shoulders and grimaces with each stroke of the brush. Note to self: make hair appointment to get it thinned out. I repeat myself in a raised voice that can only be likened to Grover. “We are going to be late, let’s go!” No one can find frickin’ socks. Where do the socks go? After getting the kids out the door at a feverish pace, it takes seconds for the Mom-guilt to settle in like a thick fog. I think about all the ways I could have shown more patience, and reprimand myself for not signing forms on time. From Mom-hero to Mom-zero in 10 minutes flat.
Which brings me to the purpose of this post. This crazy, always-behind, calendar of tasks is the small picture. I will miss this some day. In thinking about this time leaving, I already feel the pangs of missing it. My kids need me, and I need them. We may not be a well-oiled machine, but we work.
I am perfectly imperfect. It’s not my job to pretend I’m a perfect Mom because life is imperfect. Authenticity lives within imperfections.
We love some more.
I will treasure the way my daughter Tess leans in for hugs cheek first, hates getting her hair brushed, and needs solitude as she eats her cereal in peace in the morning.
I will treasure the way my oldest son Ty listens to Metallica in the morning, eats 11 p.m. snacks, and revs his truck a little too loud.
I will treasure the way my middle child Luke eats steak and potatoes for breakfast, can never find matching socks, insights panic over the wrong bake sale day, and wears collared shirts under hoodies everyday (buttoned right to the top).
These little seemingly insignificant details are what makes up a childhood. They are what makes up the memories a Mom will always hold dear to her heart.
I hope you can find the beauty in your own little life details today and embrace imperfection. Because it’s beautiful.
From my heart to yours,