Magic Mommy Moments

     I talked to a really good friend today, reviewed our plans for the weekend and discussed how our week has been shaping up. She mentioned that she read last night's post, and before she could tell me her reaction to it, I confessed how frustrated I was that I couldn't push myself harder to get the details on paper. Then I twisted the sentiment, telling her how frustrated I felt that I needed to delve at all, that I had felt compelled to mark the date this way, lamenting. I was irritated that I couldn't have written about my evening with my kids in the here and now instead. She listened patiently and I could hear her giving me the space to get the stream of thought out, all the real emotions and the story of my night that went with it.
      It felt better, marginally, to focus on the present and my success with my kids rather than all my failures. I was ambitious last night, after realizing that I had grocery coupons that were expiring and desperately needing to restock my caffeine and breakfast larder. I kissed the hubby goodnight in the late afternoon, told him to enjoy his "guys' night out" at the Twins game, lying through my teeth that I wasn't upset that he was going. I knew he needed the down time though I was a touch bitter that he got to escape the madness that I was gearing up to orchestrate.
     I herded the girls one-by-one into the truck an hour late, buckled the baby boy in the middle of the middle seat and said a little prayer for extra patience to be bestowed on me on the short drive south. Destination #1: Culver's for dinner. Eating out with four kids is a nightmare that we can barely survive when we parent together and here I was, attempting to reign them all in, all alone. Baby in sling, I ordered our food and the girls scattered in a blink. I found them a minute later after filling my own cup with root beer and letting the foam settle for a few extra seconds, watching the little bubbles pop and bracing myself for the ketchup flinging, soda spilling, fit throwing dinner that was inevitable.
   

    Those smily girls sat quietly, deceptively so I thought. They had chosen a table in the middle of the dining area, a spot next to a grandma and middle-aged daughter eating out, perfectly placed to begin their mayhem on center stage. I was sure they would out me as a hot mess of a mama before long. Crayons and sheets of paper were being shared and our number sat on the table without a single girl feeling the need to own it. 

Cups with pop were lidded with straws still in the top, noone was blowing bubbles or even tipping and dripping down their fronts. I was waiting for the moment when the crack would show in my calm facade, when my buttons would be pushed and I would lose my cool. 

Can I tell you without bragging that moment never came? Maybe I should brag. For that one hour, that one dinner, noone had a meltdown- including mommy- and we were admired for our success. The diners next to us chatted up my little ladies and inquired about my babe in arms. They each commented more than once on how well behaved they all were. One joked about how smart I was to have ordered cold food, knowing how often moms are interrupted to help, then remarked how I actually finished my own dinner at the same time as the girls. I even sat at the table while my oldest took her sisters independently to the counter to order their special sundaes, watched them share bites of each other's without getting ice cream in their hair and then  neatly wiped their own faces with napkins. 

I followed them out the door with a grin on my face, with a sweetly sleeping Henry in my sling, and loaded them all up to cross the road. 

Dang that ice cream wound them up! I celebrated my small victory of dinner next to the epic fail that was the following hour of 'bedtime trip to the grocery store'. I won't rehash it all, I don't want too much sympathy for the plain real life that we all live. Suffice it to say there were aisle races with tiny grocery carts (complete with yells and chasing mama), smirks on fellow customers' faces, a screaming two month old sitting on my coupons, and a checkout clerk that had to call for backup to bag my food just to finish faster. 

I can laugh today; last night it wasn't so funny as I was tucking four tired and whiny or wailing children into their beds while the milk warmed in the waiting truck and my caffeine called wantonly. 

      I told my friend that someday, maybe even someday soon, I will have all my days looking more like this one. I want all my perspective to be on the present and even in the future, much more than on the past. She's agreed to be patient with me, to keep listening while my healing heart talks and bares it all, and I love her for letting me have this time and space to share it.

As a side note, last year on this day I shared a post about my successful dinner with its share of failure mixed in. No Substitute for My Son reminded me tonight how to frame my head and heart around this year, this dinner. Every time we are sharing our family with strangers, I am proud and pained. It is easier today than last year and I'm certain it will be easier still in years to come. I am happy for these moments of magic that sparkle in our everyday lives, these glimmers of normalcy where my children behave when I least expect it then act like the total wild animals I know they are at heart, when I hope for perfection.