I woke up this morning, fighting with my alarm clock. Somewhere in the back of my mind I attempted to convince myself that it was actually later than it was – and if I could just figure out how to turn the alarm off, I could go back to sleep for a few hours.
First day of school, first day of school routine. First day of the rest of their lives, as I like to say. We didn’t have anything special happening. No pictures, no big breakfast, no skipping to the bus stops. We ran around trying to get everything together, and made it into the car – with a few minutes to spare. No one was locked in or out of the house. No one lost a shoe.
We drove mostly in silence. There was no happy chatter, or excitement or nerves. All of that could be chocked up to being up earlier than normal. But for once in my life, for once this year, I felt like I had actually nailed something. We were doing something completely normal. Something that the rest of the town was doing. Heading to school. For 45 minutes, we were normal.
I don’t expect every morning to go like this. I know that there will be fights and fits, and days where both don’t end up at school on time, if at all. There will be forgotten lunches, and lost shoes, and missing homework, and incomplete forms, and lack of enthusiasm, and the cries of “Isnt school over with YET?” But for day. For the 45 minutes it took to drop both boys off at school – we were normal.
After dropping Josh off with little issue, I made my way to work and did something I havent done in a long time.
I thought back over the past few years. In a fast paced version of what has been our lives. Its not something I do much of, and its something I write about even less because I figure everyone has a past – there is nothing special about mine. But for the 15 minutes I had, looking back over where we have come? Those 45 minutes of normalcy were the first 45 minutes I have ever had.
We have been a lot of the past few years. But normal has never been one of those things. We have been messed up, mixed up, picked apart, ripped apart, shoved together, shaken up, poured out, dried up. But hasn’t everyone? No where in the past few years have I ever felt like anything we do – is considered normal. And that’s ok. Ive learned to be ok with that.
Every part of my life – people find issues with. They have fixes. Solutions. Reasons. Excuses. I should be married. I shouldn’t have the kids. I should get them more therapy. I shouldn’t let them stay up so late. I should be pursing more help. I shouldn’t be giving in so much. I should be letting people help. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be listening to others.
There has never been one person who has told me that what we do, and how we do it – is ok. But today, driving the kids to school, with no one screaming or fighting, with no missing shoes, and mostly clean hair. I felt like we were your typical, normal, family.
And it was great.
For 45 minutes.
But I don’t think I could handle normal for the rest of my life.
I kind of love the chaos of two wild boys who both have their own opinions and love playing outside. I kind of love the messy life we have. Because it hasn’t been easy, but it hasn’t been handed to us. Everything we have, has been worked for and fought for. Everything that is here, is here with purpose, and reason. It all means something. And its all mine. Its all ours.
And I kind of am ok with that.