Getting ready is the hard part. Getting ready for breakfast, getting ready to leave for an outing, getting ready to go for a walk, getting ready for bed…
It tests our patience. They test our patience. Getting them dressed makes my head spin. On the weekends it’s not so bad, as there’s usually two of us to wrangle them in, but on weekdays, they test my patience. Not necessarily on purpose. But they do.
With Paige, as soon as I get one article of clothing on her she shrieks in amusement and runs around the living room. Sometimes she runs back into my lap to get her pants on, sometimes she thinks it’s fun to climb onto the couch and wait for me to get her. Often times she’ll try to race to the door after putting on just one sneaker, tripping over herself and her giggles the whole way.
Then there’s Fynn. My darling Fynn. He loves to go out and about, loves our outings. He’s always filled with such excitement that he cannot contain himself. He needs to run around and collect things to take with us. Or, he decides that the very second he has his shirt over his head, and one arm halfway in, he needs to tell me how much he loves his truck puzzle. Proving his love for the puzzle means finding it and all of it’s twenty pieces. It’s necessary.
Then it’s the clock.
“Look mommy! A clock! I love clocks!”
“Yes, Fynn, it’s a beautiful clock. Come back for your pants.”
“Look mommy! My birthday balloon!”
“Yes Fynn, the balloon. Now really, let’s get your pants on”
“Mommy look! The chair! I love chairs!”
“Fynn. It’s a chair. Please. Your pants!”
“The clock! I love clocks!!”
“Fynn. Pants. Please.”
And it continues.
It’s a miracle we actually leave. Last week we didn’t because it was too much. For me. I don’t like looking back and realizing that. But this week, I’m feeling it’s all part of the journey. And even with the distracted little boy, we’ve managed to make it out for hiking trips or to the playground by 9:30.
This week, we’ve been in much better moods. And I haven’t called Lucas at all asking if we could send the kids away to military school, or to just tell him that they’re crazy and I’m going to lock myself in the closet. Always a good sign.
Getting out the door is the hard part. But it always ends up being worth all the effort. We breath a little easier outside. Sigh more contentedly. Spontaneously hold hands and gaze at each other. Yes, it’s always worth the effort.