Mama's Musings
She wakes up with the sun. It's a Saturday, she remembers, and relaxes a bit. Such a relief from the usual 5 am alarm clock that send her into a slight panic. The stillness of the morning is both comforting and daunting.
Soon the littlest will need to breastfeed. She'll rock him and nurse him. The chair makes a gentle squeak with each movement. She can feel his tiny body relax back into a deep sleep. She can see the sun start creeping through the windows. She can hear the soft breathing and snores from her other two bed buddies. One day they'll sleep in their own bed, she thinks to herself. Dad slumbers on the very edge of the bed. Their bed bugs have kicked and rolled until he has no choice but to balance on the edge.
The baby finishes eating and fusses a bit. She wraps him up in a soft linen baby wrap. He likes the movement and warmth of her chest while being worn. Hopefully he'll stay asleep while she does her usual morning tasks and routines. But first, Diet Coke. She looks forward to the loud pop of the can and the crisp carbonation on her tongue. She jokes that it's her only vice.
She starts her mental check list for the day. Let the dogs outside. Shush them when they bark. Feed and water. Tiptoe around. She sighs with exhaustion when she sees the sun illuminating the dusty, goldfish covered floors. "Today, I'll do the floors", she tells herself. She adds it to her endless to-do list she keeps in the back of her mind. A small part of her knows the chaos of the day may make that impossible. And that's okay.
Her days are filled with diapers and snacks and spills and kissing boo boos. She's the referee when sharing is hard. It's too cold for the park. Her winter blues are manageable but still very, very hard. Spring can't get here fast enough. She sits in front of the window just to catch a glimpse of sunshine. Maybe that will help her blues fade a bit.
Baby girl is screaming. Brother has a toy she wants. She pleads with big brother to just give up the toy. She suggests they make Play-Doh. He's excited. He pulls out all the ingredients he can remember. He's eager to help. He wants to do it all by himself. He tells her she can help but only if he asks her to help him. She sits back and smiles at his independent and bossy personality. She laughs to herself because she knows he gets all that sass from her.
The baby on her chest starts to fuss and wiggle. Big brother just spilled flour all over the counter and floors. He apologizes. She reassures him that it's perfectly fine. She knows it'll make her finally sweep up the crumbs in the kitchen. Little sister wants to help. She drags a stool over to see what they're making. Big brother puts on his sing-songy mom voice and asks her if she wants to help him. This moment of sweet sibling interaction fills her cup a little and helps her get through the day.
The toddler soon gets bored with helping brother and asks for fruit snacks. It's 7am. It's it worth the fight? Nope. So she passes out fruit snacks. It is Saturday, after all.
Dad is still asleep. She quietly tiptoes in to change and feed the baby. He works so hard all week and she wants him to get every spare minute of sleep he can. Soon he'll have monkeys jumping on the bed and telling him to wake up. They ask him to play a game. Daddy tells them he needs to clean the garage and fix his car. They beg to help him outside.
She bundles them up in coats. A sigh of relief. The big kids outside with Dad means mom and baby can relax for a bit.
She stumbles to the couch and sits down to feed the baby. He patently waited for her to finish getting the other kids ready to go outside. "I can relax for a bit", she thinks. But then she looks around. Books, baby dolls, and blocks. Cups and bowls and spoons from dinner the night before. A forgotten sippy cup of milk threatens to curdle and leak. There's dried macaroni under the toddler table. She hopes the dogs will clean that up later. That is why she got dogs, afterall.
The baby finishes. She burps and snuggles him for a bit. Soon he'll be swaddled and placed into the bouncer. The crumbs and clutter around her are giving her an anxious feeling. She knows she'll feel better if she just stands up and spends a few minutes sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping. The baby will fall asleep to the humming vibration of the beastly vacuum. The vacuum makes her happy. It means cleanliness and order. It means she checked something off her list. Satisfaction. Accomplishment. A task she was dreading. She got it over with. It'll stay clean. For now. The bigs will surely drop crumbs and toys soon. But until then she will enjoy the sight of her clean floors.
The kitchen is still a wreck from Play-Doh. She turns away and thinks "later". Dinner will cause an explosion later, so why bother now?
She loves the sounds of the washer and dryer running, so she drags the heavy baskets of clothes to the laundry room. Baskets she's been avoiding all week. Later she'll ask Dad and the kids to help sort and put away. If not, they'll sit for another week. Only rummaged through when something is needed.
The front hallway needs some attention. There are tiny smeared handprints on the walls of an unknown substance. Applesauce or banana, she guesses. But she'll never really know. The floors are dusty from dirt and leaves getting tracked inside. She adds that to her list.
The kids' room is a wreck. She debates on cleaning it up herself or asking the kids to help her. Something she dreads. The barking orders, the begging to just pick up the toys, the frustrated pleading and mostly empty threats of toys thrown into the garbage.
She pokes her head outside. Daddy has baby girl in one arm and a wrench in the other hand. They're hovering over his truck. Big brother is on his bike. His helmet is loose and cocked to one side. He races up and down the sidewalk. He's yelling for Dad to watch how fast he can go. He begs Dad to go to the park. Dad tells him they can go later after he finishes fixing his truck. He wipes the sweat from his brow and readjusts baby girl on his hip.
She closes the front door quietly. She stands in the kids' bedroom for a second more and sighs as she looks around. It wouldn't take long to clean but she just really, really doesn't want to. They will destroy it again in no time. The baby starts fussing from the living room. The perfect excuse. Later, she thinks. And she shuts the bedroom door. Out of sight, out of mind. Except she knows that's not even close to true. She adds that to her mental checklist. Later she'll beg the kids to clean and ask Dad to help them.
Lunch. She figures she should probably feed them at some point. She'll offer macaroni and cheese. They'll ask for ramen. She cringes at that idea with a dash of mom guilt but is grateful they're happy with such an easy meal. She makes Dad a turkey sandwich just the way he likes. She thanks him for keeping the kids occupied and allowing her the small break. But it isn't a break. It's the freedom to pick up the chaos from the week without interruption. It's being able to mop without tiny footprints walking through. It's the loud music she can play while she cleans. It's that small sense of relief that she's not 100% in charge of the well being of all the kids and a constant eye on everyone. Even for just a bit. That mental and emotional break she needs.
She calls everyone in for lunch. She asks how the truck is doing and how riding bikes went. Their cheeks are pink from the cold wind. Their tiny hands are icy and bright red. But they're happy. Outside is therapeutic. They can run and play without mom shushing them because the baby is sleeping. They can collect rocks and line them up. Maybe brother will find a bug. He will make sure little sister gets a chance to see and hold it. He'll gently return it to nature because that's what Mom asks him to do.
The washer sings. She quickly dishes out plates of lunch and switches the laundry. If she doesn't do it now then she'll forget about it until it's too late. She throws in another wash. Only 5 more loads to go, she sighs.
Plans for the day are discussed. Errands, activities, and dinner. Do we need groceries? She makes a list. They'll talk about the plans for next week. Appointments and responsibilities. She's a planner. She pulls her paper calendar out just to be sure. The lists and schedule in her head aren't always reliable or accurate. The mental workload is a bit lighter with their conversation. Dad will help with appointments next week. She's relieved she won't have to drag all the kids with her. She thanks him for his willingness to help. He smiles.
Dad puts on a fun voice and races the kids to their bedroom. He makes cleaning up a game. A competition. A race. A counting game. Mom drags in the clean laundry and asks for their help. The kids are eager to help. It's chaos but it's fun. And one more thing she can check off her growing list.
They spend the rest of their day together. At the park, watching a movie, playing games and eating dinner. She'll enjoy the calmness of a simple day at home with her family.
Tonight, she'll buzz around cleaning up from the day. The diapers out to the trash, the toys littering the rooms again, and getting the rest of dinner put away. She'll switch the forgotten laundry and add that to her list for tomorrow. They'll brush their teeth, read their scriptures and say family prayer.
She'll finally relax, close her eyes, and fall fast asleep from the mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion from the day. But it was a happy day. Insomnia may visit her from time to time, but not today. She'll welcome the much needed rest before she takes on tomorrow.
Soon the littlest will need to breastfeed. She'll rock him and nurse him. The chair makes a gentle squeak with each movement. She can feel his tiny body relax back into a deep sleep. She can see the sun start creeping through the windows. She can hear the soft breathing and snores from her other two bed buddies. One day they'll sleep in their own bed, she thinks to herself. Dad slumbers on the very edge of the bed. Their bed bugs have kicked and rolled until he has no choice but to balance on the edge.
The baby finishes eating and fusses a bit. She wraps him up in a soft linen baby wrap. He likes the movement and warmth of her chest while being worn. Hopefully he'll stay asleep while she does her usual morning tasks and routines. But first, Diet Coke. She looks forward to the loud pop of the can and the crisp carbonation on her tongue. She jokes that it's her only vice.
She starts her mental check list for the day. Let the dogs outside. Shush them when they bark. Feed and water. Tiptoe around. She sighs with exhaustion when she sees the sun illuminating the dusty, goldfish covered floors. "Today, I'll do the floors", she tells herself. She adds it to her endless to-do list she keeps in the back of her mind. A small part of her knows the chaos of the day may make that impossible. And that's okay.
Her days are filled with diapers and snacks and spills and kissing boo boos. She's the referee when sharing is hard. It's too cold for the park. Her winter blues are manageable but still very, very hard. Spring can't get here fast enough. She sits in front of the window just to catch a glimpse of sunshine. Maybe that will help her blues fade a bit.
Baby girl is screaming. Brother has a toy she wants. She pleads with big brother to just give up the toy. She suggests they make Play-Doh. He's excited. He pulls out all the ingredients he can remember. He's eager to help. He wants to do it all by himself. He tells her she can help but only if he asks her to help him. She sits back and smiles at his independent and bossy personality. She laughs to herself because she knows he gets all that sass from her.
The baby on her chest starts to fuss and wiggle. Big brother just spilled flour all over the counter and floors. He apologizes. She reassures him that it's perfectly fine. She knows it'll make her finally sweep up the crumbs in the kitchen. Little sister wants to help. She drags a stool over to see what they're making. Big brother puts on his sing-songy mom voice and asks her if she wants to help him. This moment of sweet sibling interaction fills her cup a little and helps her get through the day.
The toddler soon gets bored with helping brother and asks for fruit snacks. It's 7am. It's it worth the fight? Nope. So she passes out fruit snacks. It is Saturday, after all.
Dad is still asleep. She quietly tiptoes in to change and feed the baby. He works so hard all week and she wants him to get every spare minute of sleep he can. Soon he'll have monkeys jumping on the bed and telling him to wake up. They ask him to play a game. Daddy tells them he needs to clean the garage and fix his car. They beg to help him outside.
She bundles them up in coats. A sigh of relief. The big kids outside with Dad means mom and baby can relax for a bit.
She stumbles to the couch and sits down to feed the baby. He patently waited for her to finish getting the other kids ready to go outside. "I can relax for a bit", she thinks. But then she looks around. Books, baby dolls, and blocks. Cups and bowls and spoons from dinner the night before. A forgotten sippy cup of milk threatens to curdle and leak. There's dried macaroni under the toddler table. She hopes the dogs will clean that up later. That is why she got dogs, afterall.
The baby finishes. She burps and snuggles him for a bit. Soon he'll be swaddled and placed into the bouncer. The crumbs and clutter around her are giving her an anxious feeling. She knows she'll feel better if she just stands up and spends a few minutes sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping. The baby will fall asleep to the humming vibration of the beastly vacuum. The vacuum makes her happy. It means cleanliness and order. It means she checked something off her list. Satisfaction. Accomplishment. A task she was dreading. She got it over with. It'll stay clean. For now. The bigs will surely drop crumbs and toys soon. But until then she will enjoy the sight of her clean floors.
The kitchen is still a wreck from Play-Doh. She turns away and thinks "later". Dinner will cause an explosion later, so why bother now?
She loves the sounds of the washer and dryer running, so she drags the heavy baskets of clothes to the laundry room. Baskets she's been avoiding all week. Later she'll ask Dad and the kids to help sort and put away. If not, they'll sit for another week. Only rummaged through when something is needed.
The front hallway needs some attention. There are tiny smeared handprints on the walls of an unknown substance. Applesauce or banana, she guesses. But she'll never really know. The floors are dusty from dirt and leaves getting tracked inside. She adds that to her list.
The kids' room is a wreck. She debates on cleaning it up herself or asking the kids to help her. Something she dreads. The barking orders, the begging to just pick up the toys, the frustrated pleading and mostly empty threats of toys thrown into the garbage.
She pokes her head outside. Daddy has baby girl in one arm and a wrench in the other hand. They're hovering over his truck. Big brother is on his bike. His helmet is loose and cocked to one side. He races up and down the sidewalk. He's yelling for Dad to watch how fast he can go. He begs Dad to go to the park. Dad tells him they can go later after he finishes fixing his truck. He wipes the sweat from his brow and readjusts baby girl on his hip.
She closes the front door quietly. She stands in the kids' bedroom for a second more and sighs as she looks around. It wouldn't take long to clean but she just really, really doesn't want to. They will destroy it again in no time. The baby starts fussing from the living room. The perfect excuse. Later, she thinks. And she shuts the bedroom door. Out of sight, out of mind. Except she knows that's not even close to true. She adds that to her mental checklist. Later she'll beg the kids to clean and ask Dad to help them.
Lunch. She figures she should probably feed them at some point. She'll offer macaroni and cheese. They'll ask for ramen. She cringes at that idea with a dash of mom guilt but is grateful they're happy with such an easy meal. She makes Dad a turkey sandwich just the way he likes. She thanks him for keeping the kids occupied and allowing her the small break. But it isn't a break. It's the freedom to pick up the chaos from the week without interruption. It's being able to mop without tiny footprints walking through. It's the loud music she can play while she cleans. It's that small sense of relief that she's not 100% in charge of the well being of all the kids and a constant eye on everyone. Even for just a bit. That mental and emotional break she needs.
She calls everyone in for lunch. She asks how the truck is doing and how riding bikes went. Their cheeks are pink from the cold wind. Their tiny hands are icy and bright red. But they're happy. Outside is therapeutic. They can run and play without mom shushing them because the baby is sleeping. They can collect rocks and line them up. Maybe brother will find a bug. He will make sure little sister gets a chance to see and hold it. He'll gently return it to nature because that's what Mom asks him to do.
The washer sings. She quickly dishes out plates of lunch and switches the laundry. If she doesn't do it now then she'll forget about it until it's too late. She throws in another wash. Only 5 more loads to go, she sighs.
Plans for the day are discussed. Errands, activities, and dinner. Do we need groceries? She makes a list. They'll talk about the plans for next week. Appointments and responsibilities. She's a planner. She pulls her paper calendar out just to be sure. The lists and schedule in her head aren't always reliable or accurate. The mental workload is a bit lighter with their conversation. Dad will help with appointments next week. She's relieved she won't have to drag all the kids with her. She thanks him for his willingness to help. He smiles.
Dad puts on a fun voice and races the kids to their bedroom. He makes cleaning up a game. A competition. A race. A counting game. Mom drags in the clean laundry and asks for their help. The kids are eager to help. It's chaos but it's fun. And one more thing she can check off her growing list.
They spend the rest of their day together. At the park, watching a movie, playing games and eating dinner. She'll enjoy the calmness of a simple day at home with her family.
Tonight, she'll buzz around cleaning up from the day. The diapers out to the trash, the toys littering the rooms again, and getting the rest of dinner put away. She'll switch the forgotten laundry and add that to her list for tomorrow. They'll brush their teeth, read their scriptures and say family prayer.
She'll finally relax, close her eyes, and fall fast asleep from the mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion from the day. But it was a happy day. Insomnia may visit her from time to time, but not today. She'll welcome the much needed rest before she takes on tomorrow.
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