Every morning I am not woken by an alarm clock, but by the sound of toddler boys
crawling out of their bunk beds, feet still heavy with sleep, trudging into our bedroom or
down the hallway; on the hunt for breakfast or to check and see if mom forgot to unplug the Wii.
The baby must be just waiting in her crib for the first sound of life in our house because as
soon as there is movement, there is Bella Jane.
Our days are warm and slow. Since we have decided to homeschool, there is no morning rush or
lunches to pack. We take our time over bowls of oatmeal; wiping sleep from our eyes, opening up the
blinds to let the sunshine in for the day, really seeing each other.
The kids all stand at the door, or if there isn't any snow they step out on the porch to brave
the cold for a few minutes, to wave goodbye to papa as he leaves for work. Isaiah always yells,
"What time will you be home?" And Nathan always yells back, "I'll see you for supper, buddy!"
And I just wonder if maybe he is the favorite parent after all?! Ha.
We do school and work on projects. We clean the house and prepare food.
We go for walks and play at the park. We visit Jesus at church and say our prayers.
We nap. We read. We drink hot chocolate. We watch Netflix like everyone else.
It is lovely. I mean it is hard, but lovely.
Someone told me awhile back that this is the only time in my entire life when all of my children
are completely depending on me. And even though that makes me want to curl into a ball and weep
with Ben and Jerry some days, most of the time I see it as such a small window of GIFT in my
vocation of motherhood. This will never happen again. And I know that God has so much prepared
for me in what I have dubbed my "cloistered years".
I want to look through that window -
take in the view and stay.
It is quiet and hidden and scoffed at by the world.
But this isn't about earthly accolades. This is about eternity.