Learning to Breathe

Can you hear that?

It’s the sound of a silent house.

All my kids are at school or preschool right now, and I have 5 solid hours of pure, uninterrupted, blissful, solitary laziness for the first time in almost 7 years.

I’m sure when my kids are grown and my house is always silent I will miss the noise.

But today? I am savoring every tick of the clock I didn’t even know made audible noise until this moment.

I told my husband recently that I keep thinking we will reach the pinnacle of chaos in our home.

Surely at some point we will max out on the level of insanity that is a gaggle of little boys, right?

So far, the threshold just keeps getting higher.

Punching, yelling, growling, kicking, sliding, chopping, wrestling, dragon-ing, riding, slamming, pounding, jumping, throwing, sprinting, scattering, moving, climbing, inspecting, hammering.

All day, every day. Nonstop.

Unless they’re sleeping.

Sing it with me now, “We get byyy with a little help from our friendddd (Benadryl).”

The level of activity makes me increasingly twitchy. Impatience has been building in recent months.

My fuse is shorter, my temper quicker.

I end a lot of days frustrated and wound up.

I just want ONE thing in our house that DOESN’T GET BROKEN OR MAIMED OR KARATE CHOPPED.

A pipe dream, that’s what that is.

• • •

My word for this year is BREATHE.

Breathe, when a kid dumps out and scatters the 1500 piece puzzle throughout the house as we’re trying to walk out the door.

Breathe, when the dog shreds a poop diaper across the living room rug.

Breathe, when someone opens the shower drain cover and shoves his whole banana down it. (That’s not code for a body part – a real, actual, food banana.)

Breathe, when a kid runs around with underwear on his head and falls down the stairs because he “didn’t see them”.

Breathe, when a bottle of Goo Gone is squirted all over the entire house, creating a skating rink that cannot be mopped up. (We finally just had to let it soak into the floors and evaporate.)

• • •

I identify as a Fast Person.

I walk fast, talk fast, read fast, eat fast.

You know who isn’t fast?

A kid.

Have you seen Zootopia? You know the sloth at the DMV?

That is actual footage of my middle son buckling his seatbelt.

The problem is, the faster I get, the more impatient I become.

When my kids make a mess or walk slowly or break something or shove food down the drain, my reaction is ten-or-thirteenfold what it should be.

Internally I’m screaming, “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU ACT LIKE A KID RIGHT NOW. We’ve got things to do, people to see, baths to take, errands to run.”

It’s not an attitude I am proud of. It’s one that embarrasses me even typing out, but it’s where I’m at right now.

It’s also why my word for the year is B R E A T H E.

Because my flustered…ness (flusteredling? sounds legit) isn’t a product of poorly-behaved kids, it’s a reflection of my own shortcomings. My own inability to slow down and show grace. My imbalance of proactive training versus defensive disciplining.

Isn’t it funny how being a great parent is mostly about changing yourself, not your kid?

(It’s annoying, I know.)

• • •

The past several months have been busy for us – my working and speaking and traveling more, my husband working double-time as he gets his team in place at work.

He’s a better multitasker than me, though, plus he’s a member of The Slows – never moving above a saunter – so he generally handles chaos better.

I, on the other hand, have done a bad job balancing all my commitments, and my kids have taken the brunt of it.

I’m becoming a Frustrated Mom and I hate it.

I’ve been feeling convicted to breathe more. And better.

I’m making myself do more yoga (which is the actual worst for a Fast Person).

I’m inhaling deeply and counting to 5 before I address an especially chaotic moment with my active brood.

I’m spending my newfound Preschool Day Freedom doing absolutely nothing productive.

I’m being stingy with my yeses.

I’m praying Psalm 116:7, “Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” and trying to relish in how sweet this season and our 3 crazynuggets really are.

We’re working on it, me and God.

As my brilliant 4 year old said yesterday,

I think so, too, my man.

He’s holding on to this mama like a Lamaze coach. Hands on my shoulders, eyes locked on mine, showing me how to breathe.

Slow down, rest, enjoy, relish, and breathe.

We’ve got this.

“My presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” [exodus 33:14]