It can be tough sometimes juggling work and being a mom. This morning is a good example. I rushed kids to get dressed, find everyone some shoes that match and took a quick glance at myself, and I ran out the door to make it in time to my appointment. I had scheduled an interview for a news article I was writing.
Between throwing some breakfast at the kids and trying to find where they left their coats last, I quickly grabbed the address off the table. I’m actually proud I even remembered that little detail. When I arrived, I spent a quick second in the car checking for oatmeal stains on my shirt and trying to remember if I brushed my teeth. Somehow, I think I went in appearing composed.
I met my appointment at a coffee shop, ordered a hot beverage and sat at a cute, little, trendy table. I took a breath. It was a nice change of pace. After chit-chatting with my appointment, I arranged my notebook in order to take notes. I reached for a pen. I calmly continued chatting while I dug through my purse, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I was pulling out a clean diaper (sadly, I’m grateful it’s clean), a bag of uneaten cereal, a granola bar wrapper… and finally! A… uh, oh. Crayon. That’s it. A crayon. And not even a whole crayon. A half of a crayon. I probably don’t need to mention how UN-professional one might appear using a light orange crayon to conduct an interview. Or more importantly, how UN-easy it is to read later, when you’re trying to decipher your notes.
I sigh. Is this what I’ve been reduced to? A pocketbook full of cheerios and crayon stubs? I used to be cool and successful and put together. Maybe. Or at least I could pretend I was. Are cracker crumbs all that is left of me? I am aware of the complete and total analogy that this makes of my entire life at this point. Sigh.
So, I choose to just laugh. It’s life. Truth be told, perhaps having children just brings out the real me. If I’m honest, I wasn’t really ever cool or put together, but somehow having a child allows you to be able to fake it less.
The truth is, I can’t blame my messy car on my kid, because I was actually kind of a messy person before. I might not have kept broken crackers around, but they sure do come in handy when my kid is crying in the middle of an ultra-quiet moment at church.
I’m not sure if being a mom has changed me, or just given me permission to find out who I really have been all along. Having a kid makes you just so honest. You can’t fake it with them, either because you no longer have the time or the energy to do so, or because you just don’t care anymore.
I DO try to get out of my sweats and put on makeup and it’s nice to remember that side of me, too. But I am learning more and more to “let things go.” Life is short and imperfect and I don’t want to miss out on any of the moments, even if it means learning to just live in them as they are – rather than as I want them to be.
My life hasn’t been “reduced” to crayon stubs, instead, it has been enhanced by them. There’s joy in everything not being perfect or contrived, or even easy.
Everyone says that one day I will miss the toys everywhere, and I assume that also means the purse full of pacifiers and half eaten raisins. While, I have secret doubts about ACTUALLY missing the toys, I do get the point. If I’m so intent on cleaning up the mess, and making sure everything is perfect, I will miss the moment I am in.
I have a bad habit of imagining how things should go and how life will be. I’m disappointed when it brings something entirely different. I have missed many, many of life’s gifts by thinking about what it should be like, rather than what it is.
It’s o.k. if sometimes we find crayons in our life instead of pens, imperfections in place of expectations, a strange turn here, a different plan there… We all at some point expect to find one thing and instead pick up another. Don’t be so quick to want to discard even the broken things in life. The secret to life is finding joy in the unexpected and letting go.
So, I just laugh. And now I keep pens in my purse … right beside the crayons, of course. Even the broken ones.
