
It's 7:58 am. So far today, besides waking my boys, getting them ready for school, making their breakfasts, and getting them to the bus stop on time; I've done two loads of laundry, folded one of them, washed breakfast dishes, and watered a plant. I've even productively piddled around online, and plucked stray chin whiskers.
I did all of that calmly, without rushing, and without the frantic beat-the-clock glances which have haunted my mornings for so many years that it's now worth mentioning that the battery in my kitchen clock is still dead.
This sort of busyness is not foreign to any mom. It's not something that most women would probably even consider noting. Being constantly busy is just part of being a mother. It's this particular variety of busy that makes this busyness worth acknowledging for me though. It's this sort of busy that is making my heart sing today.
I still have to find a job, and I'm working on it. I'll be back in the rat race before I know it, but this momentary visit to the domesticity of stay-at-home-motherhood has been very rich for me. Wholesome, real, purposeful, and right.
The remaining hours of this day are already filled with more domestic-style chores than I've had the luxury of filling any single day with in years. And it feels amazing.
I've got to find a costume for Jackson's fifth grade musical tomorrow (he's supposed to dress up as some dude named John Appleton, not Appleseed. I've never heard of John Appleton, but thankfully Google has). When I pick up Noah from kindergarten we will head to the Salvation Army thrift store, where all clothes are 50% off on Wednesday. (19th century attire, for a 10 year old. they'll have that, right?)
I'm also finally going to hang my Ironstone platter collection in my dining room. I've lived in this house for almost a year, and yes, I still haven't hung all my pictures either. My garage is full of boxes which have yet to be unpacked for lack of time/interest/energy. It's such a great feeling to finally be caught up on my have-to's, and to now have time for my want-to's, like decorating. That hard-to-reach window behind the armoire in my living room might finally get it's curtain hung today too (which will be nice, considering it's twin window, the one that flanks the other side of my fireplace, has had it's curtain hung forever).
I'm going to finish laundry, organize Noah's disaster area bedroom, and have cookies baking by the time Mark's parents come over tonight (for the very first time).
This ambition feels totally do-able today, and I'm actually looking forward to it. Any other day, if I was still working at that hell office, I would be panicked about having visitors on a weeknight. I would be racing to get things done in a haste that afforded little time to actually engage and embrace my boys in the midst of it.
I'm going to be working again soon, and this precious luxury of time will be whittled down to frantic timed-minutes again. It doesn't seem fair, and I don't like it. That looming fate is what's making me enjoy the seeming mundanity of my days.
I love being a mom during the day. I love keeping my house clean. I love being here when my boys aren't at school. And I love that I've worked so hard and so alone so long that I recognize the beauty in these fleeting days of domesticity.
