(On Sunday, our church played this video to honor those who mother. I immediately loved it and attempted to memorize so many of the simple phrases that perfectly characterize what being a mom means to me. Of course when I got home, I could only remember one phrase - 'that sacred marriage between the mundane and the eternal', but it was enough to find the transcript. I've already put in an order for Lisa Jo Baker's book, and love the way she puts the complexity of a mother's love into such simple, but powerful words. I can't wait to read it.)
"Here's to the mothers. Here's to the boo-boo kissers. Here's to the get up and warm the milk at 2 am women. You are braver than you know. You make the music that makes the life that gives the rhythm to the day in and out and in again.
Courageous. You deliver babies by c-section or adoption certificate or by push and pant and wailing battle cry of birth. You give more than you think you have. And when you're empty, when you're bone dry you wring out one more drop, one more bottle, one more soothing the temper tantrum.
Hero. You make a budget stretch. You clip coupons. You fight ketchup stains. You face the awkward parent-teacher moments. You listen. You translate for your child. You do the hard work of teaching at every turn. You find a hundred new ways to answer a hundred new versions of the question, "Why?"
Champion. You show up. You take photos. You cheer. You shuttle boys and bags of gear between sports fields and serve up ice cream afterwards. You disagree with him, you make her change her skirt, but you love them fiercely from beneath those unruly bangs. You learn to laugh at your reflection. You revel in your smiley wrinkles.
Real. You lose your temper. You yell and apologize and stamp your foot and prove that you are human. You cry. You venture out into an ocean of vulnerability with only a small dinghy and two short oars to keep you afloat when you become a parent.
Anchor. You yield your figure, your abs, your size 4 jeans but your will turns to muscle unheard of; it grows heavy with determination. No one will wound these children without going through you first.
You are a last harbor. A lighthouse in the storm of internet and Facebook and failed grades and peer pressure.
But in the everydayness of those moments, you start to feel it - the weight of glory, the glorious ordinary. And on your quietest, least interesting days, you get better at hearing the music of motherhood. Slowly, a harmony rises from the collection of tasks every mother cycles through in a day - this sacred marriage of the mundane and the eternal. The small directly related to the massive. Kids walking around like so much eternity with skin on. There is no part of your everyday, wash-and-rinse-and-repeat routine that isn't significant. You make the music that makes the life that gives the rhythm to the day in and out and in again. You are braver than you know.
Because you mother."
My glorious ordinary of this past weekend...
Mila's bare toes and her little summer dress. Carrying her with my hand underneath so her skirt flows over my arm. Just as I envisioned it would.
The way Cruz curiously digs his hands in the dried dirt at the park, reveling in how soft it feels as it slips through his fingers.
The hammock, swinging back and forth in the breeze as we catch our first outdoor nap of the summer.
The crisp white sheets on our bed as we sleep with the windows open.
Watching Cruz help Beau till the garden, leaning up against his shovel like a little farm boy.
A wild brunch at Newton's, but loving every minute of it. A makeshift bottle warmer, extra strong coffee, sticky syrup fingers, pancakes dipped in ketchup, and a baby chewing on a toy, sprawled on the booth seat beside me.
Watching both our kids fall asleep in the double stroller as we walk. An arm draped through another and a slower pace as we revel in a half hour of our version of alone time.
A sigh of relief as we both sink into chairs after both kids are asleep for the night. A two-hour premier of 24 and memories of our watching it in our old duplex, with nothing but our cat and a student loans.
A pile and a Happy Mother's Day song to wake me up on Sunday morning. Two kids on either side me, Cruz talking a mile a minute and Mila kicking her feet the way she does when she's really excited.
Her smile. His smile. Eternity with skin on.