Another day, another kid home sick from school.
Plans kiboshed, to-dos shifted, space created.
And even though we’ve been through this a million and one times, I still find it hard.
The best laid plans and good intentions, cast aside at a moment’s notice.
All necessary and for good reason.
But a struggle, nonetheless.
And every time this dance of parenthood zigs when I had planned to zag, I find myself caught in the same mental tug-of-war of wanting to be there for my kids, but at the same time wishing that I wasn’t at their complete mercy.
The more I’m caught, the more I’m left thinking — why is this so hard?
I am lucky, after all. To be able to stay with my kids when they need me. To be able to provide that comfort and calm when they need it most.
But this tender little balancing act also comes at a personal cost.
An unreliability that isn’t really suited for the “modern” world.
The meetings and schedules and calls and appointments.
Living our days according to the clock, our time tightly organized, our days compartmentalized.
And I suppose that’s the ultimate dance of motherhood — straddling two worlds, often feeling not quite at home in one or the other, trying to find your groove. Constantly shifting and adjusting.
Fighting that mental battle of wanting to just “be” when there is so much to “do.”
So as I sit here, my little sicky upstairs for his afternoon nap, my dog curled in my lap as I type, my oldest a few minutes away from the end of his school day, I’m thankful.
For the ability muddle my way through motherhood.
To live the struggles and fight the wars.
Because despite it all, it means that I am a mother.
With a full life, a full heart, and the ability to find the blessings in the battles.
Thankful for the absolute privilege of working through the mess, in my own way, on my own time.
How lucky am I.