Drinking It All In

Did you see the Julia Roberts movie, Erin Brockovich? Remember the scene where Aaron Eckhart is hitting on her trying to get her phone number? She is like, yeah, right - you want my number. She proceeds to list just about every number relevant to her life from the ages of her three kids to the amount in her bank account. She finally gives him her phone number with the forewarning he will never pick up the phone now he knows she's an unemployed single mom who's riding a recent losing streak. I have always enjoyed that scene. I thought it was a clever comeback to a pick-up line. So although I'm no Julia Roberts and really can't remember the last time a pick-up line was delivered my way, I am borrowing the numbers theme to tell you a little about myself.

I am a stay at home mom (SAHM) with two daughters ages 6 and 2 1/2. I am 43 years old. That's the same age when my mother had me ... and my twin sister. Surprise! No techy ultrasounds in 1968, just the shock of two babies when you were expecting 1 and already had 3 chidlren ages 20, 18 and 16 (yes, from the same marriage. I get asked that often). I was born second, so my very first name was the letter "B." You-know-who was "A."  I'm sure before we came along my mom thought she was home free - just two more years before the "last" child would be out of the house and in college. God has a sense of humor!

My husband of 15 years and I moved from New Jersey to Little Rhody 13 years ago. For our 20th wedding anniversary we are going to Hawaii to celebrate. Having just hit that 15-year mark, I feel I earned the right to be in a premature countdown mode. 4 years, 11 months and 41 weeks to go!

Some more numbers ... smaller ones? How about $4? Despite my good intentions that's the average amount of self-imposed, irritating overdue library fines I have pretty much every week at the EG Library. Then there's 10 to 15 minutes - the average amount of time I am late for just about everything (on a good day). Then there's 52. That's the number of weeks a year I wish Hilltop Creamery was open (and if 52 was the total number of calories for a double scoop of strawberry cheescake ice cream, then that wouldn't be too bad either).

I have one final number to share with you and it is 7. With fertility struggles, it took us 7 years to have our 2 beautiful girls.

This experience has led me to make a conscious effort to drink it all in and welcome the ordinary days I am blessed with as a SAHM. Don't get me wrong - some days can be maddeningly mundane and oh so repetitive. You may be familiar with the drill. Cook, clean, wash, dry, fold, repeat. There are days when it takes a conscious effort to appreciate the mounds of laundry, toys scattered about and crumbs on the floor (everywhere actually) and be thankful I even have kid messes to clean up.

With the fall weather finally upon us, something hit me last week while sorting through my youngest's summer clothes. I realized I was sorting 2T-size summer clothes for the last time. I've sorted and saved little girls clothes for 6 years.  I have many plastic bins labeled with tags like "3T Spring/Summer" and "Madison's Winter Clothes 2010" in the cedar closet underneath the stairs. I can't even get to anything else stored in there. Heck, I can't even see what's beyond the bins. But on that day I wasn't complaining to myself about that. I was marveling at the fact that no other little loveable chubba thighs would run down our hallway to fill those Gymboree watermelon-pink cotton shorts with ice cream cones motif. Of course I knew this all along but today it seemed more real than it ever had before. It felt a little mind boggling to me. How did 2 years fly by so fast? Honestly I felt a little relief (I'm not a big fan of the baby stage) but somewhat sad as well. I felt my own mortality and the rush of time.

So when I buckled her in the car seat after running around the sunny, windy grass fields at Academy field last week I wanted to take stock of her. Her age, toddler speak and phrases, the feeling of holding her at this exact age. I touched her soft cheeks and buried my nose into the crook of her neck and smelled that sweet toddler smell that somehow slowly fades away by first grade. I thought to myself, "Drink it in." To make the experience even more real, more cemented in my soul, I said it out loud. She thought I was talking about the juice box I just gave her, but no matter.

Drinking it all in is my game plan. Appreciate the routine I'm in and celebrate it. Raise a glass, or juice box, with me to being in the moment, joyfully and unadbashingly appreciating the here and now, one grateful sip at a time.