The Quiet of Life

It's funny that I can even use the word quiet in a house full of toddlers and a six and four year old who think they know it all. But, I can, late(r) at night, when everyone is asleep (or getting there). It's in these rare, quiet moments that I recoup and organize our life for the next day. It's in these moments that I am able to fully grasp the gift I've been given and all that it truly entails...the gift of motherhood.

I am often told that I was meant to be the mother of five...that I handle it well. That if anyone can do it, it's me. But, sometimes (all the time?) I question if the children I am raising will remember my daily struggles of balancing and letting go. Before I became a mother I had it all figured out: I was going to be the mother who did arts and crafts several times a day, "played" school so her children could learn their letters and numbers, cook three healthy meals a day, and have a perfectly kept home where happy, smiling children played. It sounded perfect to me and oh, so easy.

And then I became a mother. :)

One child was an adjustment. Two children (15 months apart) rocked my socks off and well, adding triplets to our duo was just plain crazy. But, when we settled into a routine, life was manageable. We had our nanny, my Mom, Kevin's flexible work schedule, and life just seemed too good to be true. It was as smooth as life could be with five kids three and a half and under.

And then life happened.

As I think back to what life was like last year at this time, I can hardly remember. Every stage is hard in it's own way and this past year has been no different. There is no doubt a huge part of my heart that's missing. Something I had for almost 29 years: a mother who loved me with every ounce of her being. And though I am SO thankful she is still here, she would be the first to tell you that it's just not the same.

But, life goes on. And if my mother wanted me to learn anything from her in this lifetime, it was that no matter what you are going through in life there is always, always something to be thankful for. I've always been a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. We may not like what happens, but in the end there is a real, justified reason for it. I will never understand why my mother had a massive stroke. Ever. It changed her life in a way I never imagined possible. My mother was stolen from me, from my children, from all who knew and loved her.

In the quiet of life, I find myself missing 'what was'. The life I had eight months ago when my Mom would call my cell phone six times until I finally answered it, when she would show up at my door and tell Kevin and I to go out to dinner. I miss that. I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. And before I can even shed another tear, I have a daughter who needs me to check her homework, a son with his brand new tennis shoes covered in mud, and three sweet two year old's all asking me different questions at once. Though he'd never admit it, Kevin has been a saint. There are many days that I feel like I can't take another step. And there he is to carry me across the finish line. And though I pray he will never have to go through what I have been through with my mother, he sees what it has done to me. The broken heart I wear on my sleeve is hard to hide.

Although I have faced an incredibly difficult past several months, I have also had some of the most beautiful moments of my life. A million little moments that remind me that I'm stronger than I think I am and my purpose here is a mighty one. :)