Dirty Little Secret #15

It's 10:00 pm on a Saturday and I'm folding laundry.

I couldn't be happier. My life is captivatingly humdrum. Neither mediocre nor unexceptional, just satisfyingly routine. While there are undoubtedly days when I would tear out my hair, I am not conflicted about myself in the role of wife and mother. I am not a cool mom, and I definitely wear a mom uniform. I am not a soccer mom.

I'm just mom. Or mama. Or mommy. Or Mooooommmmmy.



Our days ebb and flow, gentle waves of time lapping at our feet. Just two days ago, T. celebrated his second birthday. The minutes and hours have trundled past, through playgrounds, pre-school, and potty training. In my jeans and tees, I watch them as they grow older, thinner, wiser. I, too, grow older and wiser.




Today, we ventured to the Minnesota Zoo. L. has been watching the posters announcing the arrival of the Summer on the Savannah exhibit since last September. She had carefully amassed a set of facts in preparation for the exhibit, and when shown a model of an ostrich egg, announced to the Zoo staff that an ostrich is a relative of the extinct Elephant Bird. She is an eager child, who sees great beauty in beasts, balloons, and basketballs. She is extraordinary in her capacity to both celebrate and fear the world around her. I only wish that I were extraordinary when it came to exhibiting patience with her.




Because I still perceive T. to be a baby, I do not always see the rapidly growing boy that he has become. His sunny smile fears little, and he too finds great joy in the ordinary. Planes! Birdies! Bugs! I don't always pay tribute to the fact that he doesn't receive the same kind of attention from us that L. merited at the age of two. We don't carefully sit to learn shapes, colors, and letters. T. is allowed to freely roam through her activities, gleaning what he can. He speeds through sippy cups, stairs, and Sesame Street, always striving to catch up to his beloved sister.



So we measure our garden variety days in sticky-syrupy pancakes, bits of grass stuck to sweaty palms in the sandbox, negotiations around naptimes, and trips to the zoo. We always wear playclothes. We struggle with the ordinary and expected conflicts of marriage, parenthood, and birth order. We shepherd two tiny, merry beings through the sunshine and into moonshine; when they go to bed, I fold laundry.