I have four children. My husband works out of town. And it’s been one of those weeks. One of those weeks when ballgames are scheduled on the same day at the same time for two children, while tutoring and lessons are somehow supposed to fit in for the others. One of those (rare) weeks when I need to be in Little Rock one day, home the next, and St. Louis by the next morning–and still get everyone to and from school. And since cloning hasn’t been perfected (plus the minor issue that I don’t believe in cloning), it’s up to me to get it done.
Sometimes it’s enough to make me plop down on the floor, cancel everything, and give up.
But here’s the truth: I’m privileged. Really, I am. Seriously.
Because my oldest child has his permit. In four short months, he’ll be driving on his own. He won’t need me for that anymore. In ten short months, my youngest will start kindergarten. I’ll have all day to spend in (relative) quiet. My middle two will be, respectively, thirteen and ten–not exactly willing to be rocked to sleep anymore.
One day I’ll miss this–all the running and the chaos and the (frequent) yelling and the scrambling. One day my husband and I will look back and think, “those were the good days.”
So if you see me running or hear me yelling or watch me roll through a stop sign on my way to wherever, feel free to give me a reminder. “It’s a privilege, Amy!”
Just please don’t call the police. I don’t have time for a ticket.