"Mom, mom, mom, mom, Mooooomm!"
My movements start out fairly smooth - fluid and effortless from years of practicing this waltz.
I'm a mom. I've got this.
And then around hour 6 I begin to stumble... I lose it.
What were my moves?
Where's the rhythm?
Oh, and you should see me at hour 10.
No nimble and graceful movements.
This is the point in my summers at which I am reminded that each step is choreographed, and not by me.
I need grace upon grace here.
Towards the end of our days I have moved through this pattern,
Food, food, food, more food. And then prepare a meal
Make them some food.
Clean up the kitchen, which has somehow turned into a certifiable disaster zone, just in time to ...make a meal.
Start to vacuum one room.
Break up an argument.
Vacuum for 5 more minutes.
Go to the basement to throw in a load of clothes.
Run back upstairs to the sound of uproarious screaming.
Comfort baby, scold K, take some deep breaths, and try to patiently teach a lesson on sharing.
Grab the vacuum again.
Make some important phone calls.
Try, with desperate hand movements, to make the boys understand that quiet is essential while I am on the phone.
Apologize to phone call recipient for the loud.
Medicines, and lessons, kissing boo-boos, appointments, groceries.
Remember the washing machine hasn't yet been started.
Cuddle, read, giggle, play.
Edit, call, email, menu plan.
Insist on an hour of quiet after lunch.
Yes, You will be quiet.
Go back up. Go back up.
Yes, we are doing this.
We will do this all summer.
Only an hour.
DO. NOT. COME. BACK. DOWN.
Every now and then my partner swings me 'round as we glimpse one another and then twirl to out next location.
He dips into earlier mornings; work days that are full of summer projects, like re-doing classroom floors and fixing equipment. The movements of his day flow into homework, driving two littles to swimming lessons, yard work, and camper renovation.
The dance is not over. As dusk falls I glance at the dance floor. The vacuum is still out. Half of one floor is partially clean. My feet are sticking to the other part. Perhaps my dance moves would be aided with a little stickiness. It will help me not to slip. I have to smile.
Ahhh, this rhythm. Right when I think I finally have my movements memorized - something changes and everything is switched up on me. The ballet morphs into some wild group expression to Black Eyed Pea's.
"I've got a Feelin..."
Welcome to my summer dance, friends. Buckle up.
And as an aside to all of this, sometimes I get special little surprises dancing into my inbox. :)