There’s been a voice developing in my head over the past year. This voice takes shards of my day and polishes and smoothes until it’s something I don’t mind putting in my window....souvenirs of my motherhood adventure. A toddler meltdown over a popsicle that in the moment makes me want to bang my head against the refrigerator door turns into a funny story that reminds me how far we’ve come from middle of the night feedings. And when I really tune into the voice, I often find insight into God and His love for me. This blog is the recording studio for that voice. My hope is that the souvenirs of my day serve as entertainment and encouragement to those of you who are banging your head against a refrigerator door. And that you’re inspired to find a voice of your own that turns these trying moments into treasured souvenirs.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Getting Derailed by a Train Table


It’s August 23 and we’re already on week #3 of school.  Don’t even get me started on how ridiculous this start date is, and the battles that I’ve been waging around bedtime and sleeping in beds rather than “camping” on the floor.  I should be lounging by the pool, applying sunscreen and distributing snacks, but instead I’m logging hours listening to everyone read, flipping flashcards, and completing parent assignments. 

Yesterday was my first ever PTA meeting, which left me feeling shell-shocked.  In addition to my cooking, cleaning, driving and tutoring duties, I’ll be adding the clipping of Campbell’s soup labels, Boxtops, and the turning in of receipts from the local shopping center.  Oh, and I can’t forget to use my reloadable gift card from the grocery store…..all small ways to make up deficits of funding. 

Elementary school is not all fun and games, as my now second grader reminded me during his first week of kindergarten.  Now the twins, which my body is still trying to recovery from carrying during pregnancy, are the kindergarteners.  They have embraced the school of their big brother with vigor.  The three jump out of the car and strut into the building like they own the place. 

I’m so happy that they are growing, and comfortable in this new environment.  We tackled the first-day-of-school rally like pros.  Everyone lined up behind their teacher.  No one cried, and I actually found myself thoroughly amused and laughing at the three wailing kindergarteners and their quietly weeping parents.  The second day of school brought the start of dropping off in the carpool lane, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I may have squealed the tires and sung the Hallelujah Chorus as I pulled out of the parking lot.

So you can imagine my amazement when I nearly shed tears this weekend over selling our train table.  The boys are in a new stage of play, leading to the purchase of a used air hockey table.  The train table had to go.  It wasn’t a beloved toy.  We bought it used and the boys never fell in love with it.  The only reason it still inhabited the basement was because of the functional surface it provided for playing other things.  I priced it to sell quickly, and within an hour we had a buyer.  She was going to pick it up the next day.  And wouldn’t you know that I found myself awake in the night, thinking about that silly table and mourning its departure like I would mourn a child going off to college?  What happened to the Hallelujah Chorus?

It turns out I was a little cocky, and this new phase of life is going to take more processing than I anticipated.  For the last seven years I’ve been wiping noses and butts, getting drinks and snacks, and reading books before afternoon naps.  For seven years I’ve been my boys’ “person”.  The one they see through sleepy eyes in the morning, the one who kisses their owies, the one who gets them started on a project or game when there’s “nothing to do”, the one they call out of the shower to help them even while Daddy is sitting in the same room.  And now they have new “people”.  Their teachers and peers who get to soak up their sweet faces all day. 

This is all leaving me a little lost.  The rhythm of preschool had been perfected.  I had it all figured out and was thriving.  I had my groups that filled me up and provided an outlet for giving back.  I had my mommy friends and favorite parks and playdates that left us all happy and exhausted at the end of the day.  But that song has ended, and a new song has started.  I’m desperately trying to learn the new rhythm.  In the meantime, this new song that is elementary school feels chaotic and filled with confusion.  It will take time and practice to find my new place.  It will take time to develop a new rhythm that balances the work and the play, which are both necessary in this stage. 

Ecclesiastes 3 is always comforting in times of change.  “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”  So my days of being the 24-7 person for my boys is over.  It’s been a beautiful season—a magnificent song.  And the God who wrote that beautiful song is composing a new one for me.  I can’t wait to learn it. 

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