A million thoughts came to mind and I knew, in that moment, the universe was reminding me of something very true and very precious. I paused to take it in, as my youngest daughter stood outside in the snow, patiently waiting with fuzzy mittens, earmuffs and rosy cheeks. Her older sister already on the way to school with friends.
Sometimes (often) the morning rush is chaos - the likes from which I am certain I shall never recover.
I swear in my mind alot, breathe deeply, repeat myself (over and over and over), nag, threaten and eventually engage skills worthy of a hostage negotiator just to get my beloved children to school on time. I mean its not as difficult as it was last year when a certain little girl would literally and physically refuse to move from the porch, the sidewalk, the school blacktop....
I often think to myself how unpleasant it is to hear the tone in my own voice, to look at my two cherished children and wonder how they can completely disregard and tune out the increasing urgency (grumpiness) in my voice.
I suppose I believed it would get easier when they got older and in so many ways it has.
In other ways, it has not.
For example, I can no longer choose their clothing or their hairstyle, or their breakfast or anything really. Its all on them. The drama that ensues when the outfit of choice or the favourite hairbrush or breakfast food is unavailable or not as expected, that part is on me. When the stars align, its a beautiful thing and by far the greatest reward of having more independent school aged children. They can do things for themselves. They don't always want to or like to or wish to and usually the things they wish to do for themselves are the things you really wish they wouldn't do, and well you get the idea.
Gone are the days of zipping my youngest up in the mini trampoline to play (remain confined) until her older sister was bundled up, then repeating the process with little one, then myself and immediately zipping and sealing both children into a bike stroller and hauling it over snowbanks and unplowed sidewalks to get to school.
All on a sleep deficit, of give or take, five years.
Those early days of leaving the house were so daunting. They were full on, foggy days, looking back on them, I don't know how I did it or how any mama does it.
Ironically as I am acknowledging the challenges of raising school aged children and the contrast from when they were very small, I will admit to the fact that each September as my girls get older and I gain a little more independence, there is a part of me that feels not only a longing for the simpler days with toddlers under my wing, but a sense of guilt that I have some time to myself while they are in school, that my workload has shifted and I have arrived at the next stage. Yes, I said that, guilt. Imagine, a mother with guilt???
I am of course, horrified and possibly a little teary eyed admitting this. Especially since I know for sure that those feelings I have admitted to from time to time, of being less of a mother because I have more independent children, are really not giving myself credit where it is due.
"They don't need you less, they just need you differently" said a wise neighbour when we first moved in to this home with our one year old. At the time, the neighbours children were likely the age my girls are now, Wow, did she ever get that right.
Their little lives are complex and demanding. There is information everywhere, opportunity is all around them. Their wants and needs and wishes are far more complex than mine were as a little girl their age. They are my sidekicks, my raison d'etre and we talk and talk and talk....and I realize how quickly this time will pass, just as the time did when they were babes in arms and toddlers under wings.
Its heartbreaking and unjust to think how short lived these most joyful times are of raising little spirits into young women. And shame on me for wishing away the little pet shops and craft stuff, glitter and paints and drawings and letters to fairies and whatever else it is that clutters up my home and makes me feel like less of a human because my house is less than perfect. Yet I am painfully aware that when that mess is gone, my girls will be grown and onto the next stage....and as hard as it is to imagine, life will get even quieter.
So what exactly was it in my kitchen that tugged at my heart strings this morning?
It was a snapshot of this life of ours. A contrast of the push and pull of raising school aged daughters, no longer babes but blossoming young women. They may be older, just as I am. They may have more opinions, likes and dislikes. They may be testing waters, wanting to try lip gloss and hairstyles, to bake and listen to super cool music. They may be way more savvy than I was at 8 or 11, and have access to technology and popular culture. They may have all of that, but they are still just 8 and 11 year old little girls and there is so much they don't know yet, and so much they shouldn't know.
They might act like little teenagers....they may engage in some pretty insighful conversations, but at the end of the day, little girls are little girls and I am grateful and all the more humble for it.
Someday this kitchen will be spotless and organized and craft supply free. Someday the fridge will sparkle and shine and there will be no paintings and love letters to mama hanging from it and maybe only then I will come to fully appreciate how sacred this time is right now. This is the story of our life....I shall do my best to savour it page by page.
