He darted through my room this morning as I pulled the recently freshened white sheets up over the bed. He giggled. Hid in the clothes in the closet. And zoomed right back out.
I continued to get ready and another waddled in. He pointed at his shirt. He snickered. “Mommmmy…” he said, pointing over and over to the monster on his jammies. It was 9:30. I’d woken at 8:30, laid in bed for a few while listening to them downstairs. I drank my coffee. Perused Instagram. And woke up slowly with the fall glistening through my windows.
…
The Littlest has yet to be potty trained. I realized the other day that about 3 months ago, he popped a squat on the tiny toilet we keep in the bathroom, dropped a number two, and hasn’t once thought of re-visiting since. And I’m just not in the mood to push it. Maybe when he’s three and a half he’ll just decide to learn on his own and we’ll never have to go through the mental showdown that potty training brings.
I should care about getting the last out of diapers. Being free of that “monthly payment.” I should care about the ease of undies once they are independent enough with potty training. But I don’t really get too riled up over having to change 4ish diapers a day. It doesn’t really impact my livelihood.
He’s still in his crib. And the other two currently share a room. We have a big boy bed that’s ready whenever he is. And we have extra bedrooms should the others need their own space. But I like it how it is. Where we are. I like now.
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I walk, hand in hand with the Littlest. The fall breeze whips the leaves into a sparkling frenzy. The sky twinkles against his blonde locks. His hand holds mine in all the right places. And my heart feels heavy. Heavy in a great way. In a way to tell me that it is carrying around soooo much love… it is full of so much feeling for these moments… that it is weighing down any ounce of negativity that might possibly be able to float around inside of me.
…
I remember loving this stage with number 1. But with the Middlest, I was overwhelmed by motherhood and the weight felt more like an elephant on my chest. It felt overwhelming. And I felt like a failure. Daily.
But now. Where we are now, it’s got it’s shine for sure. They are all sort of independent. But here’s the beauty, I think: They still need us.
They need us to do little tasks. Big tasks. They want us to lay. They want us to push. They want us to play. They want us to be along for their ride. We are their safe place.
They still do what we ask of them, for the most part. They care what we think. Say. Do. They laugh at us. With us. They don’t have cell phones yet. Or cars. They still have bedtimes. They wrap their arms around our necks and kiss us on the lips and say, “I love you…” all on their own. We know how their school day went. We know what books they are reading. We are their favorite dates to movies, dinner, and the park. And we are the ones who make them feel safe.
It’s a glorious gift, the present time. And while I want to be here for all of the things and all of the phases, this one gets a special place in my heart. It is my after, for now. It will always be the calm after the storm. It is the time where I realize that each day they are growing… which is a beautiful thing… BUT I also realize there is so much time in each day to soak up the present. It is a beautiful in-between.
I’m holding onto you, sweet day. I am holding onto these moments. The days with the brothers who get along {in a brotherly way, of course}. The days with the Littlest speaking in a jumbled darling mess. Every sentence laugh-worthy. The days of the Fall sprinkling perfectly filtered hues onto our precious living moments. The days full of the reminders that while life may be short… the days are long and full of endless possibilities for capturing time in our lense. I just… I didn’t know it could feel like this. Like, soooooo right. So completing.
I am obsessed with them, I think. With the Oldest’s wisdom. The Middlest’s inventiveness. With the Littlest’s charm. With the way they heavy out my heart.
It’s a spot we’re in. The beautiful in-between. What some call the sweet spot. It’s still parenting… and comes with the ups and downs… but the peaks outweigh the valleys… every day.
Sure, it’s not lemony sweet perfection every moment. The childern are still children. And I am still a human just trying to fake parenting. But this morning, I actually went to the bathroom, closed the door, and the Middlest stood outside of the door to talk to me. It’s like he actually knew the door existed. And the Oldest and Middlest woke up on their own this morning, started rotting their brains with iPads, popped breakfast in the toaster solo, while I slept until the Middlest woke me up by screaming bloody murder because his brother had looked at him wrong or pinched him or told him he was a dinosaur. Surely one of those three things. That’s progress.
And I feel like I am my own human again, too. I am actually almost on top of responding to text messages. Like, I no longer have 100s in my queue. I am almost ready to attack my email situation. I am actually making s l o w progress on this book goal. I have less and less doctor’s appointments. I only have one surgery left this year. I am getting to enjoy and live in the days instead of feel buried by their needs. Or by mine. That is a sweet spot for sure.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking about what’s next. What will I do if the Littlest goes to pre-school in the Spring? Should I be looking for a job? Will I actually hunker down and become a “blogger”? Will I keep being Mom on my resume or will I add something else to it? I wonder how God plans to use me next.
And then I remember to just be here. Here in this day. The only moment that we know for sure. The only moment that is a given. The only moment that we can control. I choose to be here. Laughing. Soaking. But maybe, still dreaming… in the leaves… of course.
I try not to think too much about the last year. If I do… it might make me think about the fact that it won’t always be the way it is right now. That things can be different in the snap of a finger. I try not to think too much about the future… because I’ve learned that the future is just a thought. I’ve decided, instead, to savor the snugglies. Embrace this in-between… where my children actually like co-existing in one room with me.
So for right now, I leave the dishes, just a smidge longer. I pour a second cup of coffee. My mind runs for a moment in the fashion that motherly minds do…. The laundry is in piles. The carpet needs to be scheduled for a clean. I would love to demo my powder room. The boys need haircuts even though they have all decided they are “growing it out.”… And then I just sit. I I sit down to write, and capture these windows — the stain-glass panels that patch together all the days, the moments, the seconds — and make them into brilliant reflections of time and life.
…
The Middlest is playing Alvin and The Chipmunks over the loud speaker. He dances on the wood floor behind me in a jaggity motion… his limbs and hair flailing. The Oldest and Middlest are throwing a bargain bin bouncy ball back and forth from the front room to the Dining room. I know I should stop it, but they are laughing. Shouting. Happy. Interacting. So I just let it go. And I relish that we are all here. Together. In this beautiful in-between.
God lets me be here. He lets me live in this place. And I am still not sure why. I am surely not deserving. None of us are, right?
The beautiful in-betweens. Surely there will be more. Maybe this phase will stretch out for awhile? Maybe not. Maybe when they’re 11, 9, and 7? Maybe when they are all driving? Or gosh, maybe they will never end… ha.
Where are you, friend? In a peak or a valley? Where is your beautiful in-between? And if you are in it, do you know?
It’s a crapshoot… parenting. And if we’re lucky enough to do it alongside another human, I think we are meant to cling to them like the life raft they are in the valleys… and in the caverns. I think we are meant to stand beside them and look at these little Monsterpieces that we’ve been allowed to care for together. And savor the moments/hours/days/phases where they are Masterpieces. And to look at the sun and know that it always seems to come out tomorrow… whether we are in a sweet spot or not.
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The Littlest just popped up on my lap. He was in need of a kiss. For his owie. The Oldest has now moved his game of one-man kickball to the kitchen. And kicked the ball up on the counter. And the Middlest is right by my side. It’s not a bad place to be. In fact, it’s pretty nice.
I need to go shower. But what if I come out and this balance of the universe has ended? Who am I kidding? It will end a million times today. It will break down and repair itself a million and forty-two times in this 25 hour day. After all, we’re all just human. But the sun, will still come out tomorrow.
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It exists. I promise. If you are in a spot that feels hard. The spot of whimsical moments of goodness is ahead of you somewhere… just find a life raft to cling to until you arrive… and you’ll be thankful you did. The in-between is not perfect. But it’s got its own shine. And you’ll be thankful you held out hope. Because it. Is. is. Its own kind of magic.
