Someday You’ll Wish. . .

The
other night Chad and I were sitting among the chaos that is our home while having
attempting to have a conversation.  For a
moment, I paused and listened to the sounds around us.  There were loud roars (I’m not joking, like
lion sounds) coming from upstairs followed by blood-curdling screams that, in
any other situation, would likely grab the attention of concerned citizens and
undoubtedly lead to a call to local authorities including police, EMS, and
quite possibly the bomb squad.  In addition
to the roars and screams a puppy who recently found her very strong voice was
barking while being backed up by another soprano-like scream.

In that moment, it struck me how odd a situation like this might appear to an
outsider.  If a stranger were to enter
our house and take in the scene for just two minutes, I would imagine fear
might be present?  Anxiety?  Relief that he or she doesn’t live with us?   Upon entering our home a stranger would hear the
terrorizing screams and the roars and the barks.  He would hear running feet and intermittent
laughter.   In the midst of the chaos he
might hear slight snippets from a simple conversation Chad and I are having in
the middle of the noise. . . snow this
weekend. . . ROAR!!!!. . . the
weekend of the 28th?. . . AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!.
. . Chanelle’s spelling words. . . RUFFRUFFRUFFRUFFRUFF!!!!.
. . .  so tired. . . . EEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKK!!!!

(So tired—that one comes up a lot.)

I laughed in the middle of our conversation and mused to Chad. . . I wonder if other households sound like
this?  I wonder if it is strange that we
just heard a blood curdling scream and didn’t bat an eye?  I wonder how this might look to someone who
came into our house at this exact moment?

I assume this is the norm for most people who have at least a couple of
kids.  I don’t know, maybe I say that
only to make myself feel better.  Perhaps
the decibel level in our home is out of the ordinary.  Perhaps other parents have figured out how to
contain the endless energy that is packed inside the small bodies of their
little ones.  We haven’t quite figured
that one out, but we’re still searching through the manual. 

I made a promise to myself—I will not wish this away.

But then, the weekend came. 

The
temperatures were bitterly cold.  It was
too cold to go outside.  It snowed for
two straight days.  We were on four days
straight with no breaks from each other. 
Chad worked all weekend.  Charlie
wanted to play outside, Chanelle wanted to watch a movie, Meadow wanted to play
with Play-doh, Taza bit Meadow, Charlie teased Chanelle, Chanelle teased
Charlie, Meadow bit Taza, Chanelle wanted a pear, Charlie wanted macaroni,
Meadow wanted marshmallows, Taza attacked Meadow, Meadow attacked Taza. . .

On and on and on it went.   The noise, the chaos, the endless energy.  I was exhausted and in the back of my mind I
heard, when they are teenagers you will
wish that they would come out of their rooms more. 

They have the same smile.

But you know what?  It didn’t
matter.  I didn’t care.  In that moment, I considered putting each one
of them in their rooms and testing the true durability of duct tape. 

See?  Told you.  Same smile.

(I didn’t do it, please hold the calls to CPS)

In truth, I believe in the deepest part of me that the day will come when I
will wish that they came out of their rooms more.  I have no doubt that one day the silence will
echo as loudly as the noise.  I know
that these years we are living right now are some of the most beautiful and precious years we will ever experience. 

The big pile is Meadow’s.  She beat me fair and square.

The thing is, as much as I want to “live” in the someday-you-will-wish-they-will-come-out-of-their-rooms-more state,
I don’t think it’s possible (for me). 
The day-to-day happens, I’m blending their lives and my life.  Their dreams and mine.  Their to-dos and mine. 

In short, it can be utterly exhausting. 

The someday-you-will-wish-they-would-come-out-of-their-rooms-more
moments are just that.  They come in
moments. 

When we gather together in bed at night and read a book and say a prayer.  I remember it then.  I feel it deep in my soul.

When I watch them get on a bus and wave to me until they can no longer see me.

When we are sitting at dinner sharing stories and laughter—oh yes, I remember it
then.  I remember that someday I will
miss these years. 

When, in a flash, their entire lives flash before my eyes–from the red squishy babies that I first held in the hospitals to the toddlers taking their first steps and saying their first words.  From the day their whole hand clasped around my one little finger to the day when they no longer needed my hand.  Oh yes, I remember it then.  I see the time and I feel the time and I ache for the time. . .

And this is how it goes.  Parenting.  It ebbs and it flows.  Just like any part of life, there are good days and hard ones.  If every day brought sunshine, I don’t think I would appreciate the sun like I do.  If every day was Christmas, I wouldn’t love it as much I do.