Moments I Tuck into My Heart
I wake up to the sound of my toddler’s voice on the monitor. “Mama, are you?” she yells. I roll over and look at the monitor, and then the time. It’s 7:02am, and she’s standing at the corner of her crib, a beloved stuffed animal tucked under each arm. I smile as I roll out of bed.
And so my day begins.
The morning flashes by. Going potty, getting a sticker for the sticker chart, and two m&ms kicks off our day, because I am not above bribery for successful potty use. Hannah wiggles into her pink tutu, with matching pink bows in her hair. Breakfast and coffee are consumed in a jiffy, and then it’s out the door to head to speech therapy and dance class.
We arrive to speech with five minutes to spare, which is just enough time to read one book in the waiting room until one of Hannah’s favorite people comes to get her—Haleigh, her speech therapist. Hannah excitedly jumps up and down, arms outstretched, shrieking, “Hay-hay!”, with barely-contained excitement. She bounces towards Haleigh to give her a hug, waves and says “bye!” without so much of a backwards glance.
I read while I wait for her appointment to end; I hear Hannah’s little feet in the hallway before I see her.
“Mama, help, please!” she says as she presents her little piece of candy that needs opened. I unwrap the fun size three musketeers as I listen to Haleigh’s update. “She’s doing great. She’s actually all caught up and where she needs to be, but I’d love to continue working with her.” I grin from ear-to-ear, this is music to my ears. I nod along as I listen to how much progress my little girl has made in six months. We agree to keep her speech appointments going: it can only benefit her, and honestly, I can’t imagine taking Haleigh away from Hannah yet—she loves her so much and prays for her every night.
Hannah hugs Haleigh goodbye and insists we “hold hands” as we walk to the car. We buckle in and drive across the street to dance class. I wrestle Hannah into her pink tights and ballet shoes, and she waits impatiently for her dance class, “Creative Movement”, to begin. This is a very appropriately named, as it is the 2-3 year old class.
“Hi, A-belle!” Hannah exclaims, as her little friend, Annabelle, walks in with her mom and baby sister. Hannah begins twirling and running in circles, thrilled for another day of dance. Class begins, and I alternate chatting with the other moms and peeking around the curtain to video Hannah practice her dance moves. I laugh silently at times, and beam proudly as she walks carefully across the balance beam on the floor.
Dance class ends and we head home. The rest of the morning is spent reading books, playing “kitchen”, going potty (and earning another sticker and two m&ms), and eating lunch. Convincing Hannah to eat lunch is not for the faint of heart, and it requires more than a few deep breaths on my end to keep my frustration in check. Nap time arrives, and I watch Hannah snuggle in with her stuffed animals on the monitor as I lay down on the couch, too. I take a short nap, tidy up the house, and read for a bit.
Hannah wakes up, goes potty (the sticker and two m&ms never get old), and we snuggle for a few minutes before transitioning to snack time and Daniel Tiger. Then it’s off to read more books, color, build block towers, and do puzzles. We play “chase mama”, where Hannah chases me around the house, shrieking with delight. Tears threaten when I stop the game, but it’s nothing that some hugs can’t fix.
I glance at the clock and see that I need to preheat the oven. Gratitude washes over me for the ability to pop one of the freezer meals in the oven that my mother-in-law made us when she visited a few months ago. A home-cooked meal made by another is such a gift to a tired mom.
I hear the garage door open. “Hannah, I think dada’s home!” I tell her, and she excitedly runs to the garage door, declaring, “Dada dance! Dada dance!” as she performs her best dance moves: running and spinning in circle, complete with kicking out her back foot with flourish. He greets her and smiles as she excitedly gives him a hug.
We have a dinner as a family, first bowing our heads in prayer as Hannah chimes in that she’s thankful for “mama, dada, Rosie (our dog), Maci (my sister’s dog), He-her (my sister, Heather), Hay-hay (Haleigh, her speech therapist), and church.”
The rest of the evening is spent cleaning up the kitchen and prepping for the next day, as my husband plays with Hannah. Bedtime rolls around and my husband gives her a bath while I cross-stitch for a few minutes. We get her ready for bed together, and she gives hugs and kisses to dada, and then she asks to “shut the door” and to go to the “rock chair” for a “song”, all of which we do. I sing to her as she snuggles into my arms as we rock back and forth, back and forth. We pray together, and her little sleepy voice says, “Amen.”
I kiss her forehead one last time, and lay her down in the crib, quietly shutting the door behind me.
***
Ordinary moments. Simple moments. By the world’s standard, not note-worthy moments. Just another day in the mundane, repetitive life of a stay-at-home mom.
But these moments are everything to me. Moments that I want to tuck into my heart.
They are moments in time that repeat over and over, day after day, week after week… But that are also fading, too. These moments make up our days—our wonderfully, ordinary days. Days that can be exhausting and frustrating in one moment, but joyous in the next.
Sometimes I wish for time to speed up—especially during the hard, frustrating times (like during potty training or meal time), but I also want to embrace this rhythm, and cherish these moments. I want to recognize that they can be hard, but within the hard I can still find the beautiful.
After all, there is a time for everything, a season for every moment; and He has made everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 11).
