A Beautiful Mess

The first thing I hear in the morning is, "Mommy, I get up". Since he has not mastered the fine art of crawling out of his crib yet, he still cannot get himself up in the morning (and I am in no rush for him to figure that out). We scamper into the living room for a quick episode of Daniel Tiger (but only the episode where he goes to the potty or where he tastes veggies because little man knows what he likes and does not like). Yesterday, he was willing to eat the yogurt that comes in the little monkey cup, but today he won't be willing to eat that, it will have to be the yogurt that comes in the pouch. We get dressed and go to the car. He asks for his favorite songs on the radio, which I deny because my only chance to hear anything going on in the world is on the radio going to work (because I cannot stand the talk show host on the radio on my way HOME from work). He fusses at me for 1.5 seconds and then begins the battery of daily questions. "Mommy, I go shoot (school)?". Yes, baby, we are going to school. "Mommy, I see friends?" Yes, baby, we see friends. "Mommy, I see (and then we name each friend)?" Yes, baby, you will see (and I name all the friends). We talk about the "bus shoot" (school bus) as it passes our car window. He talks about his beloved teachers (who's names he still cannot say right so he calls by his own specially created (and totally adorable) nicknames). He asks for a bite of my breakfast (which is, somehow, always more interesting to him than his own). This little ritual is how he got introduced to coffee cake, coffee (black or with cream, he drinks it both ways), cutie oranges, granola bars, and cold cut sandwiches (I know, I have wonderful breakfast eating habits--- come on, people, the title of the post of "beautiful mess"-- you had to see this real world confession coming). I go through my day teaching about World War I during first hour, Cold War during second hour, Sectionalism and Antebellum period third hour. By fourth hour I get a little break and I have time to run my errands around campus and I usually have time to see him on his little playground with all the friends we so dutifully named on our way to school. I can see him running and screaming and jumping and being 10000% boy while he plays (bless his teacher... she deserves a metal). I hurry back to my room to cover my study hall, lunch duty and a final government class before my day ends. After all the students have been taught, my room cleaned (because there is always, always, always 500 little shreds of paper on my carpets by the end of the day), and some grading done, I get to pick him up. Most days, he is busy doing his favorite thing, playing outside, when I come for pick up. I love getting to be the one to pick up because I get the biggest smile from that little man and a screaming "Hi mommy!!" when he sees me. I usually brush the wood chips from his hair (he likes to throw them up in the air in true LeBron James style and for which he also tends to have to sit in the "Finking chair" as he calls it (timeout chair/thinking chair). One day after we got home, I found woodchips IN his pull-up--not sure what he was saving them for... but there they were. Then we are home and the nighttime race begins. In a frenzy of activity (dinner, bath, pajamas, and bed) the evening hours slip by far too quickly. Soon, the house is quiet and I have a moment to reflect. Our life is busy, there is a lot of rushing around on any given day. However, our life is beautiful. I am not talking about our physical life. The house needs painting, the lawn needs trimming, the car is dirty and my bedroom is still the terrible purple color it was when it moved in (6 years ago). The important parts of our life are beautiful. We love each other and we have the most wonderful son anyone could ask for. He is high energy with a splash of naughty... but he is a token of the goodness of God in our lives and to me, that makes him one of the most beautiful children I have even seen. Sure, he has a penchant for mischief (in one week alone he colored on my bedroom door, poured juice on the floor on purpose, and filled Buzz Lightyear's helmet with yogurt which I then had to clean out with q-tips because Buzz is a treasured friend) but he also can be incredibly sweet and loving. However you look at it, our life has a lot of color and a lot of flavor. When I look at it, though, all I can see is something beautiful... and messy. It's just our beautiful mess. Until next time --Amy