My Best Mother's Day Yet

Yesterday was wonderful. But not for the usual reasons. You might get an insight into my insanity here, so sorry if it's too much transparency... you can stop reading if you want!

I woke up, or, was woken up, at some time that started with a six.  Anything that starts with a six does not get to be considered sleeping in. I woke up to the combination of REALLY LOUD WHISPERS! and a toddler crawling over my head to sit at the top of my pillow. I knew that I was not suitably perky and gushy while I opened my gift of chocolates and a gift card for a pedicure, although I'm pretty sure if I'd had coffee first, I would have done a lot better.

After giving the smily-est and gushiest thanks I could manage, the offspring all disappeared downstairs to make breakfast, while I laid in bed a bit longer. I came downstairs a few minutes later to absolute chaos.

Brian had planned a beautiful breakfast. Waffles with strawberry-blueberry sauce and whipped cream, eggs, coffee and orange juice. The only problem? He didn't know how to make the fruit sauce or the whipped cream, and he had three kids trying really hard to help, and the dog, well she just wants to be where the action is, right?

Now, my husband is really, really good at a lot of things. Math. Science. Building things. Cleaning really thoroughly. Multi-tasking? Not so much. He was already frustrated and starting to panic, so I asked if I could help.

I delegated jobs to the kids and helped, and breakfast was put on the table, and we all sat down to an excellent meal in short order.

Now here's where I get all transparent on you. A couple years ago, in a random conversation, Brian told me he thought he could do my job just as well as I do it; this being a stay-at-home parent thing. That was the most hurtful thing he's ever said to me. It makes me cry now just to think of that moment, and how devalued I felt.

Logically, I know he was thinking of the list of things I do. Laundry, dishes, cleaning, cooking, etc. Absolutely, he is capable of doing all of those things, and doing them well. It doesn't take any special skill to run down an itemized list, and tick things off. 

It was the things he can't see, and no amount of explaining can communicate. I teach these kids. Completely apart from homeschooling, I'm teaching them life skills, manners, how to related to each other, how to think for themselves. All those chores on the list? I'm teaching them those, too. Being a parent is so much more than keeping children alive and entertained while simultaneously doing the dishes.

And then there's this: I am constantly, CONSTANTLY assessing each of my kids.  What do they need to know? What comes next? What needs focus now, and what is a  non-issue? Where do I teach, and where do I let them figure it out on their own? And the answer is different for each one, each time.

This is my calling. And I think I do a pretty decent job of it. I wouldn't ever presume I could excel as an engineer because I can build furniture from Ikea. That's how it felt.

I should say that Brian is no slacker parent. He loves our kids to the depth of his soul, and they know it. He plays with them, he disciplines them, he loves on them. But the day to day life? That's my arena.

So back to Mother's Day breakfast. We sat down, and a few minutes into our meal, when all was calm, and seconds were being dished out, I asked him if he still thought he could do it as well as I do (to be totally honest, I claimed a Mother's Day Prerogative!).

He thought for a moment, and said no. He said that trying to juggle several different dishes with three helpers and a dog underfoot... well, he couldn't do it.

While I know this little situation was just that, one little stressful moment in time, it was also a microcosm of my life. Spinning plates and teaching, all at the same time.

His acknowledgment changed EVERYTHING. 

What I do, it's special. It require skill and practice. I work hard to do it well. Sometimes I do it really badly!

And he sees it.

The rest of the day was beautiful. Even the parts that weren't perfect.