Sum-motherin'

Sun up to sun down. All day, every day. In the middle of most nights, sometimes several times. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and two snacks, sometimes more – only rarely if ever from a box, a drive-through or processed. Never microwaved. Dressing, changing, cleaning up. Spaghetti stuck in belly buttons. Three sets of teeth, three toothbrushes, three different kinds of toothpaste. One set finger-scrubbed. Guiding, inspiring, protecting, letting go, giving in, nursing, weaning, taking back, teaching, disciplining.

Planning, crafting, creating, play-dough. Accidents, chores, delegation of duties. Golden foil stars. Charts. Praise. Admonishment. Kindness. Church, state and country. Fostering whimsy, telling age appropriate truths, leading by example, planting, pruning, pinching, watering. Listening. Observing. Realizing. Making time to shower. Respecting the gap. Apologies. Teaching responsibility. Ongoing conversations about The Father, The Son, The Holy Spirit and Mother Nature – and how they all know each other, wondering if they share dessert or fight about whether or not to allow twisters to touch down. Little jealousies. Owning choices. I love you. Honoring, acknowledging.

Mud-pies, sore chlorine eyes. Swimming, diving, correcting stroke, dolphin kicking, Marco Polo-ing, catching breath. Talking under water. Sunscreen - two kinds. Work. Write. Hush, sit-sit, be still. Outside voices inside. Reading. Second chances. Writing. A full costume closet, a world of props and every room a stage. Explaining, describing. Popcorn balls, options, marshmallow-skewers-turned-swords, made-up songs. Instructions. Knowing my son sticks his head in to the hamper to say words he’s not suppose to say. Understanding. Remembering doing the same at his age, only into my closet. “Shit. Damn. Son of a bitch.”

Divided time, mutual attention, equality and fairness. Sharing, greed, hunger vs. boredom. Priorities. If you can’t see me, I can’t see you. Don’t say butt knuckle. Holding hands, skipping, racing, tagging. Baby weight. What happened to my boobs? Hips do spread. Skinned knees, band aids, popsicles. A thousand hugs. Patience.

Booster seats and five-point-harnesses. Decisions that decide the way the cards will fall. Confidence. Lifting, toting. Acceptance. Sippy cups. You just wait ‘till your Daddy gets home! Spills. Tooth Fairy. Two million kisses. Work. Negotiations and love songs. Assembly. Eat your spinach! Forgiveness. Leggo skyscrapers, Dr. Seuss, dioramas, Sprout online, Mario and Ditty.

Making words, listening for words, recognizing words. Reading between the lines. Vigilance. Awareness. Prayers silent and aloud, and tonight – while Giddian blessed our meal, in the most sincere and preacher-like description of why he’s blessed, even though “Dear God, there’s these disgusting, nasty brussell sprouts on my plate” -  Bird folded her tiny hands… and we’ve never once suggested it, prompted or demonstrated how, other than just doing so ourselves without real consideration that she was watching. She clapped when he was finished.

Sitting silent near to midnight just looking at my husband looking back at me, because it’s quiet and it’s just us.

String together those little moments, and it’s just a summer day. It’s validation. Even when it’s hard-won and exhausting… it’s the exciting and terrifying and simple yet complicated and carefully navigated waters of parenthood. That's a Thursday in the Land of Motherhood. A good, good Thursday.