Five Days of Beautiful Chaos.

It's Okay to Miss the Quiet.

I was watching the kids play on the slip and slide when it hit me.

Just stopped me mid-thought. The sun was out. Someone was probably about to cry within the next four minutes. And I just stood there smiling and thinking, "I cannot believe these people are mine."

We had five days together this week. No daycare, no schedule, just us.

We used every single minute of it.

We went to the children's museum, which was loud and chaotic and completely worth it. We went out to lunch. We played outside until everyone was sweaty and worn out. We walked to the park, about a mile round trip, with the twins in the stroller because their little legs were not making that walk. They helped with chores... which is generous phrasing for small people creating new messes faster than I could address the old ones.

Clayton fell on the slide and got a bloody nose. Colton fell and came up with road rash across his face. Donovan and Harleigh fought with the specific intensity that only a four and six year old can bring to a disagreement about absolutely nothing. And the twins had a full standoff over the bubble mower situation that ended the only way it could... with me buying a second bubble mower. 😄

And then there was the slip and slide.

Everyone was absolutely sopping wet, too wet to come inside, too hungry to keep playing. So I did what any reasonable mom of five does in that situation. I brought lunch out to the garage, spread out blankets and camping chairs, and we ate on the floor with the garage door open and the summer air coming in.

And then Rori came home from work with a sandwich.

She's 17. She has her own job, her own schedule, her own life moving at its own speed. The little ones are in bed most nights before she even gets home. The overlap between her world and theirs is smaller than I'd like some weeks.

But that afternoon she walked in, saw us all piled on the garage floor, and I asked her to sit down, hang out with us for a minute.

And she did.

All five of them together. Wet hair, wet clothes, stuffing their bellies and talking about our next adventure in the yard. We just sat there and talked and ate and existed together in the most imperfect, unplanned, completely wonderful way.

It's one of my favorite moments from the whole week.

The kids adore Rori. And she doesn't always have time to just sit with us like that. So when she does, even for a lunch on a garage floor, it matters more than she probably knows.

By the end of five days I had run approximately one thousand miles, refereed more arguments than I can count, and watched my children discover things and fight over things and figure out things in real time. It was messy and loud and beautiful and exhausting all at once.

And Harleigh, oh sweet Harleigh. Sleep is a negotiation every single day with that one. A different approach required every time because she always has one more story, one more thing she needs to say, one more reason she is absolutely not tired even as her eyes are closing. She was 99% the reason I didn't get a breather in those 5 days until 10 p.m. She is going to be a handful and a force... one I cannot wait to watch.

Tuesday morning I did the full routine. Breakfast, teeth brushing time, made lunches, packed bags, etc., etc. etc.,... loaded everyone up and got them off to daycare.

And then it was just me and the dog in the house...

And it was quiet.

I sat down at my desk with my coffee and exhaled. My brain shifted gears. Not running, not refereeing, not scanning every direction at once for the next thing that needed attention. Just thinking. Working. Doing something I'm good at in a space that was still.

I want to say (type?!) this out loud because I know I'm not the only one who feels this and almost nobody actually says it: Going back to work felt like a little bit of a break.

I felt guilty about that for approximately one minute.

Then I let it go.

Because I am a better mom because I have work that means something to me. I come back to them fuller. More present in the pockets of time we have because I know how fast those pockets go.

Rori sitting on a garage floor eating her sandwich with her little siblings. The twins pushing bubble mowers through the grass. Harleigh dancing like Stevie Nicks to the music in her head. Donovan building a new obstacle course in the front yard for them all to take on.

Those are the moments that matter.

Meaningful work outside the home isn't something I do instead of loving my kids. It's part of how I show up for them.

The five days were everything. The quiet Tuesday was necessary.

And I wouldn't trade either one.