I am going to do my best not to forget. Not to forget what it is like to have young children. Not to forget what it is like to be a stay-at-home mother (especially when you are heading into Week #2 with sick children). Not to forget what it is like to realize that you have never, ever done this before and not have a clue how to solve certain problems with your kids.
I'm not talking about after they hand you your perfect, fresh-from-heaven newborn for the first time. I'm not talking about the time that your baby says "Mama" for the first time, or better yet, the first time that they take your face in their chubby little hands and say something that resembles "I love you." I'm not talking about those times when you will go in to check on them after they've fallen asleep and you're certain that your heart will burst because you never thought you could love another human being that much. I'm not talking about all the times that they will have you in stitches over the hilarious things they say and do.
I'm talking about those evenings when that perfect little infant starts crying about 4:30 and doesn't stop until 8 or 9 at night (or better yet, when your 4-year-old cries for 5 hours straight). I'm talking about those times when that tantrum that you hear ringing through the gigantic rafters of Walmart, the screaming, wailing, hitting that you can hear from every corner of the store, is coming from your Little Darling, all because you won't let them have something ridiculous like a 20-lb bag of marshmallows or an eighty-dollar doll that walks and pees and burps. I'm talking about those times when they have been potty-trained for months, and yet when you go to get them up from their nap, they've had an "accident" and wiped it all over the wall, the bed, and themselves. I'm talking about when the Primary leader comes to get you out of class to ensure that your Sweetheart took a chunk out of his friend - with his teeth. I'm not even going to mention the phone calls/emails/text messages from school announcing the unruly, "disrespectful" behavior.
I feel like a lot of people from my mother's generation (and before) have forgotten. Sometimes, I get exhausted hearing about all the perfect children that existed in the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Apparently, those children never cried, whined, talked back, or breathed when they weren't supposed to. Not everyone acts like this, but I do think that we, as human beings, tend to remember the good and block out the bad. It's like when my siblings and I talk about vacations we took when we were kids; we only talk about the fun things while my parents role their eyes and tell us how we fought all the way to Yellowstone, or how the car broke down just outside of Disneyland. It's human nature, but I am going to try to remember enough to provide empathy the best I can.
Last night, I went to bed at midnight. Greg spent the day in bed because he wasn't feeling well, and I had all the kids home for the whole day because it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It snowed most of the day so the kids couldn't play outside. A 5 o'clock, I went to get Macy from her friend's house. When I got home, I made dinner and cleaned the kitchen afterward. We had Family Home Evening, and we got everyone in bed by 8. It was then that I started in on the 8 loads of laundry I had done all day (I was still finishing the last few). It was a crazy night of folding. It felt like it was the never-ending laundry basket. I swear...the more I folded, the more full the basket seemed. I finally got everything done and headed to bed just after midnight.
At 5 in the morning, I heard Paige crying from downstairs (yes, she really does cry that loudly and that frequently). Then, I heard Macy come upstairs to tell me that Paige had thrown up all over herself and she needed a bath. I took care of the situation and rolled back into bed about 5:45. A few minutes later, I heard the crying again. I heard Macy again. After a few more rounds of throwing up, I sent Macy to sleep in my bed and I climbed in her bed so I could help Paige and Macy could get some sleep. Paige finally settled down around the time that I could see the sun peeking through the window, and I got up at 7:30 to get the kids ready for school.
I took the kids to school and came home. I got breakfast for the twins and changed diapers. When I walked into Spencer and Kade's room to put their clean, folded clothes away, I smelled it: more throw up. Whoever was sleeping on the top bunk got sick during the night. To my horror, I discovered that he got sick right on the edge of the bed, so it fell down to the bottom bunk, into the ridges of both mattresses and bunk boards, down the stairs and onto the bookcase, landed on the carpet and a book that was under the bed. And it was semi-dry.
After practically disassembling the bunk beds to clean everything, bathing both boys (because I'm still not 100% certain which one got sick), and doing 3 more loads of laundry, I think we've got the situation under control. For now.
Despite what it sounds like, I'm really not complaining. I am grateful that the sickness isn't more severe. I'm grateful that I am healthy and able to take care of these kids. I am grateful that I have these children in my life, and I am grateful that I have been given the opportunity to be a mother. I can't imagine what I would rather be doing with my life. But, I want you to know that I know what it is like to be exhausted. I know what it is like to clean everyone and everything and shower last (it is 11:30, and I still haven't cleaned myself up). I know what it's like to put aside everything you had planned to accomplish in a day and just conquer the sickness and mess. I know that the day-to-day with little kids can be monotonous and exhausting (I know I've already used that word, but it is the best one). And I know the guilt that sets in when you do complain because, after all, you have 5 healthy, beautiful children, a warm home, a good, supportive husband, enough food to eat, enough money to pay the bills, and you enjoy so many luxuries. But, it doesn't change the fact that some moments, some hours, some days, some phases, some stages are still hard.
I will do my best not to forget.
