When I somehow managed to produce 3 children in 4 years, I thought my life was pretty busy. I can remember trying to break my day into 30-minute intervals, and setting a goal of just trying to survive them one interval at a time. I had a 3 year-old, a 10 month-old, and a newborn. The bottom two were offset in their feeding schedules by 45 minutes; which meant that I was perpetually feeding someone round the clock. The 3-year old was in her most exasperating stage of getting into Every. Single. Thing. within her grasp and calling for my attention in the most aggravating ways. (Baby powder bottles emptied on carpets, etc.)
I remember looking fervently ahead to the future and fantasizing about the days when they could go to the bathroom on their own, feed themselves, buckle their car seats, dress themselves. I remember thinking that life was going to get infinitely easier, and my time would be mine again.
Ah, what a fanciful world I lived in.
Because fast-forward seven years. (What? Seven years?) They are 10, 8, and 7. They can go to the bathroom on their own (though the girls prefer to go at the same time and talk to each other while they take care of business), they can feed themselves (and mostly not spill anything), they can buckle their own car seats (after they finish a UFC-worthy brawl over who sits where ), and they can dress themselves (in mostly matching outfits except for the socks, which I am told is a fashion thing now.) All that bliss, and guess what? I have ZERO time for myself. ZERO.
Because of all the things.
I mean, I guess I knew there were things - I actually went looking for things, and I even paid for the things. But I never really knew just exactly what the things were going to mean for my LIFE.
Let me elaborate: Emma participates in Basketball, Soccer, and Softball. She plays the cello and the french horn and sings in the choir. She helps with youth CER programs and is pressing me hard to let her add summer gymnastics to her already packed summer schedule. Carys is in Gymnastics, Soccer, Softball and Basketball. She wants piano lessons to start yesterday, and wonders why "Emma gets to do everything." Cooper is in Wrestling, Soccer & Baseball, plans to start Football next year, and thinks that his skills at Minecraft should qualify him for an Olympic medal.
I may not be warming bottles and changing diapers and finding the correct pattern of rocking/bouncing/walking for each individual child's comfort, but instead I am coaching teams, watching games/meets/matches, signing off on practice minutes, working concession stands, selling fundraising items, attending concerts, shopping for cleats, sneakers, leotards, gloves, helmets, bats, rosin, cello strings, music stands, & shin guards and driving all over southern Minnesota all day, every day.
There are days when I am just over it. Seriously OVER it. I want to stay home and sit on the couch and eat chips. And watch terrible daytime television.
But here's one of those ways that it is both frustrating and awesome to be married to my husband. I'm a joiner and a do-er, that is for sure. But when I reach my tipping point, but husband reminds me that it is NOT about me. It's not about how tired I am, how many miles I have put on the Prius in the last year, how I think if I have to eat another meal of hot dogs/pizza/popcorn I might actually die of malnutrition.
When I go over the dark side, I have made it all about me, and that's where he becomes the family hero. Well, first he points it out to me, how I've made it all about me - and that's the frustrating part. If I could just swallow my pride for ten seconds, I would see that he's right. (It almost killed me to write that last part, just so you know.)
But he IS right, I try to do it all myself. I have terrible control issues. I like to have my hands in everything all the time, especially when it comes to my kids. I want to facilitate every opportunity, and then when I realize I've overdone it, I just poop out, for lack of a better term.
Aaron is always, always, always able to pick up my tattered and fraying ends and get our balls rolling in the right direction once more. He reminds me that my tired does not equal their tired. My sick of driving does not equal their missing a practice or a game. It IS, actually, all about them, and if I could learn to let him do more along the way, I might not reach the brick wall quite as fast or often as I seem to do these days.
And the truth is, the older they get, it has the potential to get even more busy. He asked me to combine our several calendars into one master calendar so he could more accurately pinpoint where he is needed and when. I finally managed to get one together, and I was rather horrified to discover that no monthly calendar was big enough. Our level of involvement has exceeded every monthly template that Microsoft Office has to offer. I had to take a deep breath and download a weekly calendar, just for the space.
Someone out there is going to tell me that we are doing too much, sacrificing family time in favor of activities and hurting more than helping by being so active. And to that I respectfully say: No Sir. We still have family time; some of our best conversations happen while driving somewhere. We still eat meals together, often picnic-style near someone's concession stand. I say that it's not WHERE or HOW we are together, it is simply that we are TOGETHER. My kids will know that at every single thing that is important to them, we will be there, showing up, doing whatever it takes to say "I saw you do something amazing today" even if that something amazing is ingesting sunflower seeds in an alarming quantity or figuring out how to make those dang softball cleats stay tied, already.
What are they learning from those activities? They are learning that they can do new things. They can do hard things. They can be pretty good at something, and they can struggle with something too. They are learning to win with integrity; to lose with grace. To support each other, to be part of a team. Their music education is helping unfold the corners of their minds and making life richer and more beautiful.
Along the way we get to become part of dozens of new families, and all of them have their own special dynamic. Each sport brings us in contact with new families, who are passionate and funny and friendly and boisterous and proud. At the orchestra concert the other night, my tough tomboy wore concert black, a sequined skirt, had her hair piled on her head, and with the stature of a queen stated that orchestra made her feel professional and important.
Someday, they may have to give something up; they may have to choose, or whittle down their options. I want them to be able to to say that they tried everything they ever wanted to try. I'm going to make it possible for them to find whatever it is that sets the rhythm of their hearts.
I have some close friends who have already closed this chapter in their lives; their kids are grown and gone. Every single last one of them looks back on these crazy-busy years with fondness and gratitude. They tell me every day to savor it, to enjoy the chaos. I will. We will.
I will still admit, however, that the three big empty boxes on the calendar in December (only three, by the way) give me quite a little thrill. Three whole days of nowhere to go, nothing to do? I'm giddy.
