I see it as I stand at the counter waiting impatiently that it’s taking two minutes for my coffee to “brew” in my Keurig. A thing of nail polish in a jar on the counter. Neither go there, the jar or the nail polish. The jar should have been recycled and the polish put away. It strikes me that one day all the little things that float around my home will only float if I put them there. All the little ones, who are rapidly becoming not-so-little, will move on.
As they move on, their little wakes of destruction will as well. A meal won’t require an entire load of dishes. Their shoes won’t be somehow never be on the shoe rack and spill over the living room. School projects won’t line the kitchen table waiting to be finished after dinner. Nail polish will be kept in the spots I put them. Jars that I said to recycle will be recycled.
Things have already shifted and changed. There aren’t bins of toys all over the house. There aren’t diapers anywhere. There isn’t any naptime. It’s loud and chaotic at my house nearly all the time, except when they are all at school and I am home alone for a blissful few hours and no one talks to me. It’s a mad-dash in and out the door every morning and afternoon. Everyone buckles themselves and they all still argue about who gets to sit where in the car. They all feed themselves, dress themselves, and experience lots of moments without me. They all still need me, seem unable to feed themselves without making it look like my kitchen should be closed by the CDC. They need snuggles and boundaries. They make me laugh, cry, and yell.
Recently in a conversation with a friend we were talking about how our kids are so old and how much older we are now compared to our early years of friendship. I told her I don’t feel qualified to be here at this stage with kids turning into adults and my life not only focused on their days.
It doesn’t seem like I have enough knowledge to be here but here is where I am. Still surrounded by little things out of place, like nail polish in a jar.