I am 9 years old when Hurricane Floyd makes himself known to North Carolina. My teachers at school tell us to find a safe place with no windows to wait out the storm if we need to. When I get home that afternoon I run to our hall closet and fling open the door. It is stuffed to the brim with winter coats in five different sizes, plus a giant corded vacuum. One, maybe two people could squeeze inside. How are we all going to make it? I wonder.
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It’s raining again. Droplets plink onto the roof and windows, turning our home into a cozy sound machine.
The baby and I are sick. The big boys have boundless energy.
“Can we watch another episode of Wild Kratts?” CJ calls from the couch.
“Sure,” I say without looking up from Tower of Dawn. An extra 26 minutes of screen time won’t hurt anyone.
But then the second episode is over and the baby is awake and the big boys are whining. I glance at the clock. It’s not even time to start dinner yet. One of my children announces that he tried to pee standing up but “it got everywhere.” The other cackles and yells “Poopy butt!” in response. I grab our Clorox wipes and head to the bathroom.
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This week I turned down a job offer. A really good one—flexible hours, with solid pay, doing work outside the home that I’m interested in. I wasn’t quite ready to leave Alden in the care of someone else yet. When I declined the offer I felt a heavy thunderclap of guilt, followed by the soft rain of relief.
When I mentioned the job opportunity to a close friend—telling her I was excited but also feeling some hesitation—she texted me this (among other things) in response: “Unless you and Josh agree that this is best for your family, you don’t have to do this. … You are already doing the most important work at home.”
My friend is right, but I can’t help questioning it. Am I really doing important work here? Even though it’s unpaid and unseen and (often) unappreciated? Even when my house is a mess and my kids don’t listen and I microwaved hot dogs for lunch again?
Her gentle reminder lodges itself in my mind, like a piece of gravel stuck in the sole of my shoe: This is important work.
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I haven’t followed through on a lot of things lately, which is unlike me. Take for example: The aforementioned job. Alden’s plagiocephaly helmet (long story). Kyeler’s hearing aids (he wears them *maybe* 10 hours a week). A September Whole30 with Josh (LOL).
At the time of this writing I have four identical text messages from my dentist’s office: “Megan, it’s been a while since your last cleaning! In order to keep your smile healthy we strongly recommend coming every 6 months.”
I look at our calendar in search of a child-free hour or two to go to the dentist. In my own handwriting I see Kyeler’s auditory verbal therapy and behavioral therapy appointments. CJ’s 4-year-old check up and Alden’s 6 month. Birthday parties, play dates, family get togethers, and a seven week class at our church. I’ve had an ever-worsening rash on my legs all summer and keep meaning to see someone about it. Getting my teeth cleaned suddenly seems rock bottom on the totem pole of to-do’s.
I delete the string of texts, vowing to floss a little extra tonight.
Am I just weak, lacking in character and commitment? Or have I heaped too much on my plate and expected myself to be able to devour it all with ease?
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It’s raining again. I want to turn on the TV for the kids and sink back into the rocking chair with my book and a cup of tea (or, let’s be real, coffee). Alden is wiggling around on his play mat and the big boys are engaging in some sort of play-turned-real battle with their Avengers action figures.
“Let’s go outside!” I announce suddenly, cutting through the ever-present noise of our household.
“To jump in muddy puddles?!” Kyeler asks excitedly, citing his favorite Peppa Pig line.
“Yep,” I confirm, the answer going against every grain of my perfectionist nature.
CJ and Kyeler rush to get their rain boots on while I strap Alden to my chest. We open the front door—the one I recently painted blue on a whim—and step into the overcast afternoon. The air is cool but heavy with humidity. It’s that in-between kind of weather where it’s not fully raining but also not… not.
The boys and I splash in muddy puddles, scribble with chalk, pluck cherry tomatoes from their wilting stems. I cry out in delight when I spot a shimmering green hummingbird flapping its wings around our zinnias. CJ and Kyeler charge towards it, laughing as it zips away in a blur of effortless beauty.
It’s still not dinner time yet. Wet chalk covers our sidewalk and our clothes. I haven’t been to the dentist in a year and we don’t have a closet anywhere near big enough in which to wait out a storm. But I think we’re going to make it, after all.
Beautifully said. 🩵 Sometimes I feel like our current pace of life / culture makes us think about all that we are or aren't doing much too much. But, how loved are those boys of yours?!!
I have no words…how do you find the words, my friend? 😭 Beauty and process(ing) in the mundane. I’m so grateful to know you and be able to read your beautiful work.
I also haven’t been to the dentist in a year for many of these same reasons 😂 Why is it SO hard?!