How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love the Bomb.

As I write this, I am sitting alone in a friend's living room.  Quietly.  I just put down my crochet.  I am childless: three of the Four are at the beach and the Invisible Woman is sleeping.  I'm enjoying it.

But.

But it's almost too quiet.  The dog is on a walk with a lady friend, and the yelling and running feet and flying blanket-capes and Ninja Turtle sound effects are missing.  As I've been sitting here, I've realized that I've learned to love the bomb.

The bomb is the bomb of "It looks like a bomb went off in here!"  My house is in constant chaos; keeping on top of things is frequently lowered to the level of keeping my head above water. My tea goes cold on a regular basis.

It's all okay, though.  I would rather have a bomb perpetually exploding in my living room than be tidy and childless.  Four is a little much sometimes, but I love them and I finally, finally got an "I love you, Mama," for the very first time from any of them, from the Human Torch.  I wouldn't give up moments like that for all the tidiness and quiet in the world.

I can't compare having kids to anything.  I've never been much good at literary devices, except hyperbole, so not even a basic simile comes to mind.  It's terrible and wonderful all at the same time.  Some days I get so overwhelmed I have to lock myself in my room and hide, but some days the kids are in a good mood and I'm in a good mood and we have a grand plan and we can just go for it.  It's great.  It's a day at the beach, a walk in the park, skipping school to go on vacation.  It's making memories.

This is a bit of verbal diarrhea, so it may be hard to follow, but I hope you get the gist.  I think that when I go home, the bomb will be a little more tolerable, because suddenly I've learned that I miss it when it's gone.  All too soon, it will be gone for good, and I'll be longing for 'those days.'

Kids grow.  Things change.  There is only now to enjoy, and maybe from now on I can, and I can find something to remind me every day that The Bomb is something precious.

Cheers,

Kelsey