The Every Day

At this exact moment in time I am a homeschooling mom to my seven year old.  We have three weeks left of school until summer break (which won’t even be much of one because of his need to stay up on all he’s learned).  This year has been full of challenges and frustration, and goodness.  I have learned so much about myself.  I have learned even more about my child.  I have learned what I like, what he likes, what is good for us, and what isn’t.  And I can tell you now, I am counting down the days until summer break.  

We actually couldn’t have done this year any differently.  With our lives being overseas, my husband leaving the marriage, our move back stateside, and the time it is taking for the kids to adjust to our new normal, we just couldn’t have done it differently.  I’m glad for this year of homeschooling, and I’m also glad it’s almost over.  I will forever be a homeschool advocate for the right families in the right situations.  I will always applaud the mother’s who make that decision, because, it takes being a mom to a whole new level.  But, I am glad it’s almost done.  For now, I’m counting down the days.  

And in the meantime, I am living in the every day.  My two sons are seriously active, and busy, and always moving, and talking, and running, and stomping, and yelling, and wrestling, and eating (oh my goodness they eat so much food all the time!  Whoever told you boys eat a lot once they hit teenage-hood was lying, it starts young), and growing, and falling, and hardly ever sleeping.  Life is crazy.  

Every single time anyone announces they need to use the bathroom (yup, that is how we roll around here, folks) Henry pipes up, “I hafta go POTTY!” in his loudest Henry voice and races whoever is moving towards the bathroom.  Often he and his cousin have bathroom wars, where Henry has literally been pulled off the potty mid-going.  Sometimes I have discovered him running through the house, pants down, in a sprint for the backyard, where he is all too happy to relieve himself.  Today, it resulted in him climbing into the bathtub, dropping trow, and peeing.  I’m sure I don’t have to explain how happy this made Grandma.  

Patrick is my talker.  He never stops.  He does his best thinking in the car, and we’ve been in the car a lot lately.  He talks about anything and everything, and I’m not sure why I’ve never seen him pass out, because he does not stop to breathe, ever.  When he isn’t growling through the house and yard as a zombie, he is fighting them in Minecraft.  He plays that game with some very serious creativity and ingenuity.  

And both boys are ALWAYS dirty.  Always.  They stink like puppy dogs most of the time, their hands are always lined in a thin layer of filth, their fingernails full of dirt.  Skinned knees are the norm, scabs are constant, as are bruises, scratches, and lately even bite marks.  I feel like they are never quite clean enough, even after a nice hot shower, when I’m drying them off and kissing their clean little heads, there is still the faint odor of puppy, lingering in some missed nook or cranny.

Life is chaotic, and the days are long, often much too long.  I find myself at the end of each day, exhausted, yet full of love.  My boys are my constant reminder to live my life, to work hard, to constantly improve my mothering, to remember to play, and most importantly, to laugh.  

Life hasn’t stopped, not for any of us.  In fact, it keeps moving at a rip roaring pace, and I am learning to enjoy the ride.   

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