My oldest kiddo, David, was often on “hurricane cycle” when he was young. He would bounce from one activity to the next (like his Mom??) and leave a path of destruction in his wake. I once put the baby down for a nap and left David and Lauren parked in front of the TV so I could quickly go to the bathroom. When I came out, I found the two of them drawing wavy lines on the kitchen wall. In a matter of seconds, David had grabbed some crayons off the counter and coerced his sister into coloring the wall. The artwork stayed on the wall for over a year–because neither the hubby nor I could muster up enough energy to paint over the crayon.
One evening, David was a Category Five on the hurricane scale and my patience was long gone. David and Lauren were fighting over toys and neither of them would sit on the couch long enough for me to breastfeed the baby. Steven was colicky and wouldn’t stop crying. I was tense, crabby, and just plain tired. I was just trying to survive long enough until the hubby arrived home so I could hand off the kid duties to him.
Joe walked in with a smile that soon disappeared from his face as he surveyed the toys strewn everywhere, the lunch dishes still on the table, and the once-folded laundry now overturned on the floor.
“Bad day?”
I shot him a look.
“Why don’t you go take a bath and relax,” he suggested. “I’ll watch the kids.”
After a hurried dinner, I filled the bathtub up and went to grab towels from the other bathroom. As I walked back in, my eyes caught something floating in the bathtub and David standing near the tub.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
I dropped the towel and scooped out the brand new book that I was so looking forward to reading. With a heavy sigh, I sat on the toilet and tried to dry off the book.
I started to cry. It was all just too much. Mothering three kids just two years apart in age had finally taken its toll and everything came crashing down on me at that moment. The tears poured out. Just then, David came over, climbed in my lap and started hugging me. He gave me a kiss.
“I love you Mommy.” He hugged me again.
My eyes went back to the book and I saw the title more clearly.
“Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.”
I started to laugh.
Alternating between tears and laughter, I smiled at the irony of the whole thing.
It is now years later– the little boy has grown into a young man who graduated from college and is living on his own. I still have the book with the warped pages stuck together. It’s a reminder of that hectic time of three kids under the age of four–when I thought the day would never end and I’d never have a minute to myself. Today, two of the kids have moved out and the youngest one is about to graduate. How quickly the time flies.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Life goes by in an instant. The little stuff that you unintentionally blow up into big stuff will likely not matter years from now. Pick your battles carefully. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
And remember to laugh in the process.
