Friday, September 18, 2015

Everyday Us

I'm not sure what I'll remember about my life at home with my littles as we all get older.

A few days ago I saw a mom holding her small fella's hand in a store, making important conversation with him, her little buddy. My heart ached a bit for those long days that were often so hard. On this side, they do seem a bit magical. (Go here, here, and here for proof. SWOON!)

As a work-from-homer and a writer, my life is largely solitary now that all three of the kids are in school. I love quiet. But I'm starting to wonder if I have a saturation point. At the very least, these long stretches of quiet are a glaring contrast to 3pm, when everyone rolls in SO loud, SO bickery, everyone wanting my attention at once. The transition makes me feel like I need to rest under a compression blanket while someone brushes my hair.

But I don't want to be a person who always wishes they were in a different part of their day, or a different stage of their life. Looking at that mom with her little boy, I saw the way time has its way with memories and emotions. With any luck, these are all the glory days.

The future and the past and this right here is a web, stitched together and catching the light. We can't have part but not the whole. I want to keep feeling my life, not just remembering it in hindsight.

I want to freeze-frame the easy way we move through our afternoons, all that racket eventually settling down to an exhale. We're home.

Yesterday morning, in my quiet kitchen, I parsed through the day ahead of me. I've been spending most of each day at the coffee shop, finishing up the manuscript for my book. So there was that. But the library books need to be returned (and a fresh stack brought home), I'm heading out next week for a little workish adventure with Jailchap, and Si turns seven in seven more days.

I'm sure it'll feel pretty surreal to see a book with my name on the shelf, but what I want to really feel and really remember is the way I fold a load of laundry most days while dinner is cooking, or how Silas climbed into bed with us after having a bad dream that he was being chased by lightening. I want to remember the way I survived seven straight years (and counting!) of Legos strewn across every floor of every room. I never want to forget the ultra-verbose book Ruby wrote about Piggy and Elephant going to the beach, and the way she spelled cumpashunit. Hey hey, Silas got an 86% on his behavior chart in school yesterday! Calvin taught himself the opener to a Trampled by Turtle song on his violin!

These little things run the risk of blurring together into the greater good, and though good is always good, I'm a small moments girl, so I'll hold onto them like fruit in my apron.

Walking to school a few days ago, just as we we neared the building, Silas asked, "When Jesus made the numbers, how did He know what to call them?" We hadn't been talking about Jesus or numbers, and I sort of never want to solve the riddle of his brain.

{Si's toy box}

Back home in the quiet, it washed over me again. I LOVE MY LIFE.
It doesn't mean it's easy and it sure doesn't mean I always live it well.

Eternity calls, but I'm grateful for the other travelers I get to hold space with while we're here. God knew all along what I needed.