Lily loves to use her little plastic elephant scissors. She cuts all kinds of wacky shapes out of paper, and we’ve done a couple of projects with fabric. Yesterday I gave her an old paint chip book and her trusty shears and let her go to town. She really enjoyed trimming out all the different colors and sorting them of course. She’s a pro with the scissors, so I left the room for a few minutes (solidifying my Mother of the Year candidacy).
When I came back, she was lying on her bed face down. Giggling.
Then she lifted her head to reveal a crooked little Audrey Hepburn fringe. I sputtered out a WHAT HAVE YOU DONE but she was just too cute and smiley for me to get mad.
So I laughed. And told her they actually look good. Better than mommy would have cut them.
“I’m just tired of all this hair in my face,” she explained. And then she ran to the bathroom mirror and squealed with delight.
Still. Cute bangs or not, no more alone time with the scissors for this five-year-old.
It was one of those days.
The type that, if you’re a mom, you’re already nodding in silent solidarity.
The morning started with a tantrum over cartoons. Then little sister hit big sister (her new thing, apparently) and Lily flew into hysterics because her head hurt soooooo much. Then Sophie got her first time-out ever. And she sat on the floor, heels pressed to the wall, singing and acting like it was pretty cool actually. Which cracked me up. Until I went to pick her up and banged my hip on that dang edge of the kitchen island. The one that gets me just about every single time I pass by. And then I tripped on the dog. Who insists on staying IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ACTION ALL THE TIME ALWAYS.
And I looked up and saw that it wasn’t even 9:00 yet and how was I ever going to power through this day?
But I did. We did.
And while I rocked Sophie for her nap, in that beautiful little moment of peace, I exhaled and let it sink in. The flood of gratitude. How blessed I am to be a mother. Their mother. As she snuggled in, she reached her tiny hand up my shirt sleeve and began patting my arm. As if to say, you got this mom. Hang in there. And I smiled and sang another verse of You Are My Sunshine.
All was right with the world.
Until later that day when the chaos ramped back up. I plopped them down at the kitchen table with paper and markers so I could attempt to start dinner. And Sophie decided to decorate her face.
When I looked up from the cutting board time froze for a split second, and instead of freaking out, my brain decided to let me laugh. Which surprised me. Because despite the hot pink joker-grin stained onto Sophie’s cheeks and the rice boiling over on the stove, I could see in that moment the beauty that lies under the chaos. I’ve been trying really hard to see it. To hold onto it every single day, especially when I feel most frustrated.
I think it’s working.
You’re officially here, but you’re not really here. This air is awfully chilly. And what’s with all the wind and rain?
But we love you anyway.
When the calendar flips over to March, I get a little giddy. Warm days are on the way.
You gave us a bit of sunshine last weekend and we went outside and climbed trees and ran around the yard and hollered at Bella.
Thank you for that.
We’re ready for more, whenever you are.
Last week during a play date at our house, Sophie decided that it was time for Monroe to roll over. So she sat with him as he lay on the quilt, making him laugh. And then she started wiggling around just enough so that Monroe had to crane his neck to keep his eyes on her.
Then when we turned our backs to start making lunch, he stretched his head far enough that his little body followed suit and he plopped right over onto his belly for the very first time.
Sophie was proud.
So she crowned the moment with a little motivational stare into her cousin’s eyes.
(Three cheers to Laura for running to capture this awesome moment.)