Today was one of “those” days.
I woke up to my darling eight-year-old bent over my bed asking me if we really lived in suburbia.
When I said yes, he asked if we could change houses and live in an urban area with big buildings.
This line of questioning continued all day long.
All. Day. Long.
My 14-year-old and my husband have spent all day working on a science project recreating a plant cell out of a plastic container, some colored strings, coffee beans, pennies, and pasta.
When I wasn’t being asked if we could build a new house in the city, I was being asked to check over their masterpiece.
What did I think of using a paper cup for the nucleus and a ping pong ball for the nucleolus?
(Truth be told I didn’t even know something called a nucleolus existed.)
What did I think of the questions they came up with for the interactive part of the project? And, did I think it was OK that they left the ping pong ball white, instead of painting it black?
After numerous consultations on various forms of urban planning and biological experiments, it was time to deal with my 11-year-old’s major life problem of her bedsheet that kept falling off her bed because she insists on spending as much time as humanly possible jumping on said bed to her favorite princess music. Thankfully, we can get bedding pretty easy if she rips it, as our friend can get us a Kohls MVC free shipping code!
I should add that because Lizzy has significant special needs, she was unable to say that was her problem right away.
No, I was alerted to the crisis in her room by her signature, blood curdling scream followed by a series of nonsensical words.
“Lizzy, take a deep breath.”
“OK. What is the problem?” Though now that I was in her room, I could clearly see the problem.
“I…want… my… sheet… on… my… bed.”
“Excellent words. Now let’s put it back on. You know it wouldn’t fall off so much if you didn’t jump on your bed.” Now I am laughing.
My reward for putting the sheet back on is my daughter jumping into my arms and giving me a huge hug and the sound of her amazing giggle.
Did I mention that Lizzy is now two inches taller than me?
Of course, my day did not end there.
There were fights to mediate, meals to make, meals to clean up, snacks to make, snacks to clean up, attitudes to adjust, problems to listen to and tears to be dried.
I have a headache.
And I’m more than a little cranky.
Yet, I can’t help thinking that this is the good stuff I will miss one day.
Before I know it, my kids will be grown and there will be no more little faces greeting me in the morning with impossible problems to solve. No more screams because bed sheets have fallen off. No more science projects that need to be done.
My life will go back to what it was before the kids came into our lives.
And, not nearly as rich or as much fun.
So for today I’m going to be grateful for the splitting headache and shattered nerves.
I’m going to burn into my memory what it’s like to be needed so much that at times it feels as if four people are pulling at me from all different directions at the exact same moment.
I’m going to cherish a locked bedroom door and my husband’s voice telling the kids to stop bugging mommy for one second.
Because when all is said and done, I know that I’m going to spend much more time wanting these crazy, hectic, want-to-pull-every-hair-out-of-my-head days back, then actually having them.
For today I’m going to be grateful to be having, “one of those days.”