A quiet day is not what I really want after all

It's Take-Your-Child-To-Work-Day at my husband's office today. The boys (9 and 6) were up before the crack of dawn, dressed smartly in their little matching polo shirts and jeans and ready to go for the day. They've been counting down the days to today's date for the last 2 months, excited to experience a day-in-the-life of their dad, complete with a commute on the MARC train and Metro and then lunch at one of the food trucks that seem to be all the rage around DC. All three of them are looking forward to a day of kid-centered fun, chemical experiments (DH works for a certain scholarly journal which publishes the work of chemists around the world) and just a break from the everyday.

Baby girl is still sleeping and the house is quiet, save for the drone of the dryer running. I finished my coffee, showered, took my time applying makeup and getting dressed, made the beds and loaded the breakfast dishes...and it's still only 8am. Now what?

Oh, I have plans for the day today. Believe me. I've been counting down the days to today's date too. I have plans to accomplish so much that the boys (and all that our day usually entails) prevent me from doing. Sewing, organizing those baby pictures, shopping, reading...so much to do, so little time.

But I sit here, not quite sure what to do with myself. It's 8 o'clock on a dreary, grey and rainy morning and I haven't had to send anyone into time out yet. I haven't had to wipe someone's rear end yet. I haven't had to tell someone for the 3rd time to please get dressed for the day. Haven't had to follow them around making sure they are doing this or not doing that.

(Do I really bark orders that much? Sigh.)

The quiet is deafening. I walk into their room and find the evidence of last night's stuffed animal party strewn about the floor and under the sheets of their shared bed. I smile to myself and then wince as I step on a Lego. A quick glance outside in the backyard reveals a plastic sword, a Thor hammer, overturned skateboard and a tennis racquet all laying in the grass near to the bare patch of the yard where no grass ever grows on account of the path of the tire swing. What probably looks like the ghetto to some and would likely raise the eyebrows of those on our HOA committee, I see as my DH's and my crowning achievement.

They've only been gone for an hour and I miss them.

I can't help but be reminded this morning of those mornings before our children arrived...5 years worth of quiet, lonely mornings with a beautiful, lush green yard with no bare patches and nary a stuffed animal in sight. I can remember walking the floors of our empty home with so much time on my hands, trying to quell that ever-present ache in my heart, wondering if I'd ever see a day when I would actually desire quiet day to myself. I doubted it back then. The idea seemed too far-fetched. And if I ever did become a mom, surely I would never want have a quiet day to myself ever again. Right?

Well, shoot...I can't see my screen now because the tears are blocking my view. How is it that the memory of that time gone by still is so vivid? How is it that the tears still flow easily and the wound still so fresh?

But sadly, I do forget those moments of our early married years. More often than I care to admit. I can get so caught up on my job of making this house run smoothly, getting the homeschooling done, retrieving my garden tools from their treehouse and mediating the quarrels that I lose sight of the big picture: that I'm actually living the life I always wanted.

Last night as I prepared a salad for dinner, I grabbed for my salad spinner and found it was, of course, full of refrigerator magnets. I let out a little throaty growl and dumped them on the floor and continued washing the lettuce. Baby Girl, who had been watching, mimics my throaty growl and then toddles over and proceeds to empty and entire drawer full of plastic cups and plates onto the floor. My nine year old--who has been casually watching this from the other room--looks up from his book and smugly reminds me, "You prayed for this, remember Mom?"

I did pray for this. All of it. The less-than-perfectly-run home, the chaotic mornings, the patchy lawn, refrigerator magnets and even my failures at handling it all with grace and patience. I am being formed by these little people even as (ironically) I am trying to form them.

I'm going to miss them today, so much so that I wonder if I'm really going to be able to enjoy my quiet day with just Baby Girl? Which reminds me...it's just far too quiet still. I think I'll go wake her up and let her make a mess with her breakfast. Just so I can be grateful to have a mess to clean up.