People. Did you know that when your child(ren) hit school age, the month of May becomes a lot like the month of December? Lots of awesome activities and celebratory occasions and picture-worthy events. Sometimes, I think it should work like this: “Maren, do you want to go to XYZ activity or do you want to eat dinner? Because at the moment, I really do not feel capable of taking you to XYZ and also making dinner. Choose ONE, honey.”
Humbly, I only have one school-age kid, and she’s only at the school for 2.5 hours a day, so I’m not even entirely sure that counts. Seriously, I put her on the bus, go to the gym and the grocery store with my two-year-old, and then go right back to the bus stop to pick her up. Her teacher, given the amount of knowledge that Maren has acquired during those 2.5 hours per day this year, probably makes dinner and takes all three of her kids to XYZ, and ABC, and LMNOP with no problem-o. (Her teacher is amazing, and Maren had a sensational year of school.)
Am I the only mom out there who did not know about the May Chaos? It’s not to be confused the December Chaos (obviously, it’s not cold out).
I am choosing to love the moments amidst the chaos.
Greta has two band-aids perpetually on her knees. She loves (LOVES) her shoes, and she is constantly changing pairs, taking them off and on, and, of course, doing it all i.n.d.e.p.e.n.d.e.n.t.l.y. She often puts them on the wrong feet which leads to an increased number of “crashes” as we call them, or “cwashes” as Greta calls them. I’ve found that she cries less over the skinned knee than she does over the injustice of Mama fixing her shoes to prevent the “cwash.” So, I bought more band-aids and she does what she wants with her shoes. She is highly adorable and she will tell you all about her injuries. Often, she says, “Oh, man!” or “Bummer!” or “Holy moly!” when lamenting over her wounds. She’s awesome. She still gives strangers the cold stare, but she is super chatty if you catch her in the right mood. Those who know her best know she’s got something to say about everything.
Maren is finishing kindergarten. Tonight we read a book that was collectively written by all of the students in her class. Each student finished the sentence “My favorite thing about kindergarten was…” The diversity of answers, the handwriting, and the spelling, oh the spelling, were so magical and so very reflective of the little people that they became this year. Maren wrote about watching the first-grade plays, something that she chose because no one else wrote about it. That’s my girl. She’s becoming aware of the world around her and that she’s not quite the center of the universe. She’s blossoming and it’s so, so, so beautiful to watch her grow.
Last night, she tiptoed into my room and I said, “Maren, go back to bed.”
She said, “Mom, can we snuggle?”
Me, “No, we can snuggle tomorrow.” Usually when she wakes me up, she’s scared and wants to pray.
Her, “Well, can we snuggle for a really really really really really (seriously there were that many really’s) long time tomorrow?”
Me, wanting to go to back to sleep, “Yes. We’ll snuggle a lot tomorrow. No problem. Go to bed.”
I love that at two in the morning, I am her touchpoint. I love that snuggling with me is home for her. I don’t want her to go to school for seven hours next year. I want to snuggle her, snuggle them both, until the end of time.
Playing with my girls, and snuggling with my girls. Ending up with band-aids on the knees, and newly written stories. Maybe that May Chaos isn’t so bad after all. Great things have happened this May.
It’s the moments, people. The moments.