Magnificent Mondays

Monday, the beginning of the week. The return to the blessed routines and structures that govern our lives. It brings with it a certain sense of peace and comfort, knowing that reality has settled and you're busy days are once again dictated by the steady tick of the clock. You, my friend, are just along for the ride. I love Mondays. I would love them even more if they fit their wondrous meaning for me. Unfortunately, shift work is a jumble of uncertainty and my "Monday" is often a Saturday or a Wednesday and there are days I feel completely lost. And yet today I find myself experiencing this day to its full extent. Jonathan is off, so for us it is really a Saturday, but he is sleeping. And if there is one thing I am realizing, it is that with children, the routine goes on. Caleb does not just "sleep in" for me on a Saturday. No, he is a like a little bird who chirps his dire needs to me until I am reduced to the state of awareness. Selah does not ignore her instincts to feed in the middle of the night. No, young children make every day a Monday. And those rare times where you take them out of their comfortable environment of routine and structure, the "joy" of your excursion is quickly replaced by anxiety.

Take yesterday for example. Jonathan had a benefit basketball game in Grand Forks. Greatly anticipating getting out of our sleepy little town, I could tell he very much so wanted me to come along. And so it was that I found myself getting up early so that I could get ready. Getting the children ready. Packing snacks. Packing toys. Making sure there were diapers and blankets and coats and hats, and the list went on. Finally ready, we were off. The real fun didn't start until we got there. We were a little bit early, so we walked around, trying to get Caleb to walk off some of his abounding energy. Time? 1pm. At 2, Jonathan got to leave the outrageous responsibility of keeping a 1 year old quiet and contained when there are bouncing balls flying at him... and go to warm up. Leaving me... alone. The routine? Shattered. Selah, having missed her nap, is crying if anyone even dares to look in her emotional direction. Caleb, squealing "daddy daddy daddy" is consistently running out to the court, anxious to be just like his dad. And so, with my daughter strapped to my front, my son kicking at my hip, and toys and food littering the floor, the game began. The commencing hours are really a little bit of a blur to me. I do remember having a thin sheen of sweat on my body the entire time. As I raced after Caleb, stressed over my screaming daughter, trying to keep a semblance of control over my little family... I realized that no other mothers of toddlers had brought their adorable children. Ah, to be home. Half time brought Jonathan into the back room, wondering with disdain and disappointment, why I wasn't out there watching him play. Needless to say, we got through it. I think my blood pressure was a little bit elevated. But during the second half, I simply allowed my exhaustion to show, and I had a number of willing helpers to aide my son in watching the game. Why couldn't that have happened in the beginning? And yet, during all of this upheaval, I heard for the FIRST time!!! My son call my name. Someone had lovingly picked him up before he ran into the middle of the court and he started crying... they said "oh, do you want your mama" and so it was that I heard my son giggle in anticipation as he cried out "mama, mama!" Never has my heart been so full as at that moment. So he does know who I am!!!! Arriving home, with tired kids and an injured husband, I felt satisfied and content. This is what life is all about. Defying the structure that keeps us comfortable and reaching out to accept God's little miracles that lie just outside of our comfort zone.

And so, despite the craziness and wonder of our Sunday, I must say that as I drink my coffee, listen to my kids play happily... I am SOOOOO thankful that it is once again Monday.