Domestic Pleasantries.

It was a Thursday - the day I snapped.

When I realized that 7 years of pursuing domestic bliss was too long. When I tossed my proverbial pearls on my dresser and grabbed an unlimited ride pass on the roller coaster of acceptance. The hills were the days when I had my shit together. The drops were my crashes back to the reality of my daily life. I hate roller coasters (real and figurative ones), but I chose to ride this one for the last 2 years.

For a really long time, I was content with simple and slow. With watching my toddler pinch single cheerios and pieces of bananas off his highchair tray, listening to Mickey Mouse sing on my TV, then baking something, folding laundry, loading the dishwasher. Nap times were mine. I’d crochet or read or catch up on my DVR. I’d happily make dinner with the groceries I’d carefully planned, budgeted and shopped for. I mean it when I say that was all I wanted.

Things started to shift when my kids started activities. Gym classes, soccer, swimming lessons, preschool. Chauffeuring was added to my tasks, and something about being around other human adults did something to me. I saw a bigger world, and I wanted it.

I won’t get into all of the wild ways things changed for me over the years, or each of the individual struggles, but just.....that fateful Thursday, 7 years into the thick of things, my happiness with the simple and slow became unhinged. I started to wobble between being that all-encompassing, content mother and the knowledge-seeking, creative woman I knew was at least a small part of me.

It’s not even that I was seeking something big, or huge, or even a different life. Just, another facet to my life. Something bigger than myself. Something bigger than picking up the same 10 toys and wiping butts.

Look, I know it’s a big deal to be a mom.

I know it so well, that it was my only true ambition in this life. Wiping someone’s butt means you are their person - the one that’s nurturing them towards being a cared for, loving, productive adult. For some of us, our role is simply to perpetuate the next generation - be the rungs on their ladders. I’m cool with that being the largest of my accomplishments in this life, but that doesn’t mean I want nothing else from it.

All understandable, I think, but I let that tricky balance zap me of my ability to really SEE the beauty in the slow and simple. The little. The milliseconds. The microscopic. I used to be wildly good at that.

Maybe it’s because of my revelation this weekend, or the Abraham-Hicks research I’ve done, or the soul soothing talks I’ve shared with Matt lately, but I’ve started to see them again. Those little bits of satisfying domestic success.

Sometimes it’s dramatically simple - giving my wedding rings a quick scrub, a fresh coat of polish on my nails, making my bed in the morning, the living room carpet being freshly vacuumed.

Today it was almost a dejavu confirmation. My kids have been on the “what’s for dinner, mom?” train for a few years now. Sometimes (usually when I’ve neglected to plan properly) the question annoys me, but not often. I usually reveal the answer one item at a time because I love hearing their mini reactions. Today it went like this:

What’s for dinner, mommy?
Chicken.
Yum! And?
Mashed potatoes.
And?
Gravy
Ooh. And?
Green Beans
And?
Cranberry Sauce
YES!!!!

And it dawned on me. These are the moments. This is what I was waiting for. When I would daydream about the day when I’d be the mom - the one in charge of the house and home with a collection of little ones who loved me and looked up to me, and they’d ask me, “What’s for dinner, Mom?” and I’d be the one to make them happy with my answer.

I grew up in a house that didn’t do dinner. We just didn’t. My mom was always exhausted or short on money, so we poured bowls of cereal and boiled elbow noodles, and even that didn’t happen every night. It was a lesson I had to learn when I moved in with Matt - dinner happens every night.

When I was in high school, I spent the afternoons at my then boyfriend’s house, and usually ended up staying for dinner. His mom always included me - she’d even ask me what I liked, and tried to cook things I enjoyed. I would watch her come home from a long day at work and cook a big meal for her family of boys, and she made me long for that life. I learned a lot from her, though she probably never knew it. It’s funny looking back now, how I idolized her without understanding that I did, and how much my life now looks like hers did.

I have to remember this - week to week, day to day, hour to hour.

It SUCKS packing lunches every morning, and stretching a grocery budget every week, and cleaning up the same bag of magnatiles over and over and over again. But these sweet little growing hearts and their simple struggles is all I ever wanted. Exhaustion made me forget that for a while, but I’m working hard to remind myself of it every day.