I get up. Progressively snuggle, cajole, yell the children out the door (and rejoice on the days where the progression ends at cajole). Load and unload the laundry, the dishwasher. Make beds, put away clothes, pick up forgotten socks, stack and purge scattered papers. I shop for groceries (or clothes, or housewares) making sure to get a little something they each love. I write checks, balance accounts, lick and stamp envelopes to make sure the bills go out on time.
I wipe breakfast off faces. I make sure soccer, baseball, piano, library miscellany and people are where they need to be when they need to be. Dentist, doctors, birthdays, school holidays.
I pack nourishing snacks, lunches. Unpack lunch bags, wipe them down. Vacuum, dust, swish toilets, wipe counters. Make lists of home projects, tackle what I can. Try to keep the car free from the detritus of back and forth and here and there.
I provide and clean up dinner, check that the homework is done and the permission slips are signed, sign assignment notebooks, nag about piano and spelling word practice. I make sure teeth are brushed, retainers are worn, minutes are spent reading. I tuck in and snuggle and kiss and listen to stories about the day.
I go to bed with a whirling list of things that went well, things that did not, things I need to accomplish tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I try to make my brain shut up.
My day is not unique. It’s the day of parents (mostly moms) all over the western world.
It’s exhausting, frustrating, and absolute magic.
We are magic.
And I needed to hear that today and thought maybe you did too.
*I did once tell Abram I was magic and he very quickly reminded me that if I was magic, I’d find a way so the toilets would clean themselves…smart kid, that boy.