Heavy in a happy way.

There is just a hint of fall in the air this morning, my favorite season and not a fragment of a second to write about it, to take it in on pen and paper, let the scents coalesce into a subtle something. My hands and arms are so filled with Milla (and the eager little Micah) while my ears are serenaded with Max’s latest theory about Dogland that my heart and head barely have space to contain it all. Some days, like today, for example, overwhelm me. By the time Patrick comes home, I am closer to stuttering than speaking.

And yet if Patrick offers me some time “off” to be by myself, it seems like such an empty prospect that I choose instead to load everyone into our tiny car and venture out together…. Should I just accept the extent to which my “self” is tied to motherhood now? That the love I have for my husband and children cannot be boxed or conveniently contained so that it does not spill over into every other aspect of my life? Yes, ladies, we CAN do it all. But not easily. So you make your choices, tie yourself to the mast, and ignore the sirens.

Life is not the linear progression promised by my DayPlanner. Like love in general, staying home with children, being a stay-at-home-mom, overflows with chaos, disruption, and disorder. Sense and meaning come in retrospect.

My favorite moment of this day was also the worst moment of this day. While I was sharing a sweet moment nursing Milla in the 10 minutes before Max had to be retrieved from his piano lesson, Micah decided to remove her diaper and excrete her loose, stinky poop into the air conditioning vent near our front window. Milla did not get the milk she wanted because I had to clean (i.e. spray with disinfectant and leave for later) Micah’s masterpiece and rush off to get Max. All I could think about as I drove was that poop oozing into the vent and the thoughtful expression on Micah’s face when she said, “Micuh poop poop in the potty” while pointing at the soiled vent. The worst of moments became the best when I reported the incident to Max and he burst out laughing. I swear he peered at Micah with pride. And then I started to laugh because, well, how much more creative could she have gotten in her location?

And we don’t even have a camera anymore. So my status as family historian has turned from words and photos to pooper-scooper extraordinaire. The best of moments and the worst of moments and all the glories in between.

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