There is a mad scramble around here every morning at 7:50 to 8:10, despite our best intentions to keep things organized.
Neighbor kids are walking in and out of the house.
Doors are left open letting cold air waft through the hallways.
Straggling hair needs doing.
Lucy is screaming for milk or crying for help to find her “guys” (figurines).
Grace is sticking her homework reading log in front of my nose to be signed.
Claire is needing her shoes to be tied.
The girls are scrambling to do their breakfast jobs so they can head out with the bike brigade to school.
The phone is ringing off the hook.
Someone has spilled something.
The lunches are half way put together strewn across the counter.
And sometimes, in the middle of it all, Lucy’s bus comes early.
And we all head outside to wave goodbye to her from her window…me and the bike brigade.
She yells “I love you” to the whole crowd, and the bus pulls out.
Off go the bikes waving goodbye on their way down the street.
I walk back inside, close the doors and catch my breath.
The house is SILENT.
So quiet I could hear a pin drop.
And although right now it feels so good to be left with nothing but the remnants of syrup still clinging to the counter after a weak attempt of one of the girls to wipe it down, and a few random dishes that didn’t get stuck in the dishwasher to keep me company, I still know I’ll miss all that chaos some day.
Until then, I’m off to my race to finish my list of “to-do’s” for the day: grocery store, bank, Primary meetings, laundry, cleaning, phone call returns… before that bus pulls up at our house again in a couple hours and drops off my girl full of excitement from a morning well spent learning new things.