the warning label of orange juice

 

Two weeks ago I locked my kids out of the house. I was claustrophobic with them in my space. I was overstimulated by their whining, and by their trail of items thrown about the house revealing their path like the slime from a slug. Wrappers. Toys. Towels. Fighting. Whining. Ah! So I sent them outside to play and told them they had to stay out there for AT LEAST 20 minutes. I just needed 20 minutes to breathe my own air. 20 minutes of quiet.

This morning I got them on the bus and came home to silence. I see 3 orange juice cups that never made their way to the sink and I started to cry. Not because I asked them to drink all of their juice and 2 of them didn't. Not because I feel like I'm failing at raising responsible humans because they didn't put their cups in the sink. I cried because the house was quiet and those cups were reminders of my world and how it's changing again.

The empty cup belongs to my oldest. My rule follower. My people pleaser. My old soul. The child who made me a mom and made me realize how painful it is to watch your heart walk outside of your body everyday. In his 9 years of life he has already endured so much. To meet him though ,you would never see any of his struggles. He carries himself as not to burden anyone, and as in anyone, I mean mostly me. This child knows I would fight to my last breath for him, but see, he doesn't want me to have to. So he drinks all of his orange juice and gives me a hug because he knows it's what I need. I know this. He knows this. But we act like it's for him. 

The purple cup belongs to my blonde ray of sunshine. The baby of the family by 3 minutes. The overachiever. The last to be born but the first in the rest of her life. Determination. She's determined to accomplish everything but drink her orange juice. Every morning I pour her a cup of juice and tell her she needs to drink it. Every morning after breakfast, I dump out a full cup of juice. She doesn't have time to waste on trivial things, like eating full meals and hydration. She can't be the first to get her day started if she's the last at the breakfast table. A day before her fourth birthday she asked me what a teenager was. I told her it's what a person becomes before they turn into a young adult. " A teenager. That's what I want to be," her little four year old voice declared. She's 7 now. When you look at the playground she's the 1st grader playing with the 4th and 5th graders. Still determined to skip her childhood to make it to the finish line first.

The last cup belongs to my fiercest tiny dancer. She's the first child to pick you up when you fall but also the first child to stand her ground even if it means pushing you to the ground. She's the smallest but makes up for it in charisma. When you have her affection you feel it to your core but don't make her mad because you'll feel that too. This child is my husband's karma and I'm so glad I have a front row seat to watch this unfold. The two of them are most alike. Goofy. Heartfelt. Divas. Watch out world. You're not going to want to underestimate this one. 

You see those three cups sitting there? I don't even remember pouring the juice into them this morning. Pouring the juice is just one of the many tasks I'm programmed to do every day. Seeing those cups now makes me realize I don't handle change well. I need routine to cope with the chaos. But see with routine comes forgetfulness. I become so caught up in making each day efficient that I forget a day's true purpose. The purpose of our days aren't to treat them like a to do list that needs checked off. Pour the juice. Check. Feed the tiny humans. Check.  Clothe the tiny humans. Check. Get the tiny humans out the door. Check. Move on to next agenda. Success? I'm not so sure anymore. How many check lists outshine the little moments of our children's childhoods? What are we missing between all the programmed tasks we complete?

In 3 weeks another school year will be over. Another year that's fading into the memories of our lives. Another year that's molded them ever so slightly into the humans we aspire them to be. All the days of routine, calendars and checklists have got us here. But how much did I miss while I was so busy marking off the tasks? How many cups of orange juice did I pour while functioning on auto pilot just to get out of the door? How many missed moments does that all add up to?

I guess the orange juice should have came with a warning label this morning. 

"Caution: this juice may be triggering. you're about to spiral. your kids are just moments away from having their own 401k's and you're missing it all. enable panic mode in 3...2....1."