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Someday I know I will miss the minutia of motherhood

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This morning these two knuckleheads loaded buses for a middle school retreat.

I’m not gonna lie...

The idea of having the house to myself for a few days, with the absence of lunches, laundry, pick-ups and drop-offs, homework-free, schlep-less-free, bickering-free afternoons, did appeal to me.



I entered the house. Once all the shoes and other things they had left scattered throughout were put away, I took a look around my now-empty house. And.

The quiet.

I’m not gonna lie.

I am not hating the fact the hubs and I have fancy dinner plans and my morning alarm will go off a little bit later than usual.


These knuckleheads are part of what makes this house a home. The chaos and the non-stop chatter are the life force.

I’m not gonna lie.

It made me realize in a few short years this quiet will be the norm.

I peeked into their rooms, picked their towels off their floors, put the caps back on their toothpaste, and I knew not that far from now, I will miss the minutia of motherhood.

I’m not gonna lie.

When my babies were born I longed for them to enter each new phase. Because the next one would be easier, or more fun, or something.

But the gosh darn truth is every stage has its share of good and hard. And then they are raised-up and they will fly the coop. So stinking fast. It’s in a blink of an eye, really.

A good friend of mine recently was sharing with me that since her kids entered high school she’s been thinking how most of us only have 18 years with our kiddos under our roofs. Eighteen. They will — God willing — spend most of their life under a roof other than ours.

And I’m not gonna lie.

This retreat may be more about what I am supposed to learn. Because while they are sitting around a campfire, hopefully soaking in the smell of pine trees and participating in teenage chatter, I’ll be sitting here missing the noise.

I’m not gonna lie.

Sleeping in a little and wining and dining will be nice.


I can’t wait for them to exit the bus, schlep them home and have their chatter back under my roof.

By Valli Vida Gideons on

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