Years ago, when I dreamed of raising children, I pictured living near the sea and homeschooling everyone. In those dreams, we ate breakfasts of homemade pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit. I slowly sipped my coffee as I admired each of my children around our dining table. There was never any cleaning in my dreams (since they weren’t nightmares), but the assumption was that everyone cheerfully pitched in and the kitchen was clean in a snap. After hitting the books each day, we spent our time exploring the out-of-doors and playing at the beach. Each night, the children would bathe, we’d eat as a family, I’d throw a wild family-pajama-dance party, and we would read together. After tucking each child in, Matt and I would sink into our prudently chosen Coffee Colored Sofa and relish in what a blessing our family was.
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Cut to real-time.
Each morning, Matt wakes up early and shuffles the children through their imperative, structured morning routine. During the intensity, I lie in bed pretending to sleep until I hear the front door close. Then I hightail it into our kitchen to ready the french press. After perfectly brewing and pouring my coffee into my favorite mug (because that DOES have an affect on the taste and the pleasure of consumption), I go into my room, close the door and read for every quiet moment I get.
Which is about 13 minutes each morning.
For the rest of the school day, we attempt to learn, casually, as we go through life which is so much more fun, messier, and more exhausting than it ever was in my dreams.
When I put our youngest down for a nap, I often have to take a break from the fun to advocate for my two children who are in school. Their complex needs due to early childhood trauma impact their educational, medical, extracurricular, and therapeutic needs. I have to ensure they get the structure and nurture they need across settings so they can succeed without being singled out or shamed.
Case management Mommy-style is exhausting so I attempt to be efficient to reserve as much energy as possible for interacting with my treasured family members. I go downstairs and brew a cup of black tea. Then, I snuggle up with my homeschooler and I read to him for as long as he’ll let me. Sometimes we play a game. Sometimes we just act plain goofy. After we’ve had fun and he feels emotionally connected, he reminds me how secure, healthy, and happy he is by doing an independent project, playing, or reading until his brother wakes up. As he does, I try to remind myself to inhale every minute of this and appreciate that he currently doesn’t have toxic stress weighing him down. He’s free to be a child. It’s a beautiful gift and one I now know not to take for granted.
When our little man wakes, he’s the most relaxed he ever is and I try to capitalize on that by reading to him. While I’ve attempted to interest him in more sophisticated children’s literature, he typically convinces me to read same “Thomas the Tank Engine Story Time” book. I’m learning to appreciate how interested he is in the actual mechanics of trains. His second go-to book is “The First Human Body Encyclopedia,” because learning how the digestive system works is even more interesting than how trains work. Because. Poop. If there were more than two pages devoted to excretion, I’m certain the encyclopedia would replace his current number one.
When we do school pick-up, we stay to do homework so one child can attend his school-provided tutoring and so both my children who need it can keep schoolwork at school.
On our way out of school, we race and the kids hide from me and “scare” me. I scream, to their delight. Then we shuffle into our ultra-cool minivan and I pass out dinner to my two children who feel immediate relief once they get their physical needs met. When we get home, we begin the calming predictable routine that results in at least two of the children being tucked into their beds consistently at the exact same time each evening. They wind down in their beds as I play cherished audio books outside their bedroom door.
By the time Matt arrives home, I’m done. I’ve sunk into the sofa before he’s changed his clothes. Sometimes I scan the mess around me and choose to close my eyes and try to remind myself all the reasons my reality is better than my previous dreams.
For me, enjoying the simple things is more possible in my reality than it ever was in my dreams because I’m acquainted with the complex.
While true, it’s still best appreciated with my eyes closed.
