It was the most amazing sky I’ve ever seen

Going anywhere with three little boys is a challenge. I’ve always got one in my arms, one slowly lagging behind, and one running too fast, too far ahead. So, I’m constantly chasing, yelling, “Slow down,” then spinning on my heels and pleading, “Please hurry up!”

Today was no different, only it was cold outside, single digits, when my 4-year-old ran out into the corner market’s parking lot, leaving me—baby in my arms and a gallon of milk in each hand—to scurry after him. I looked back at my 6-year-old who had stopped in the middle of the parking lot and was staring blankly up at the clouds, snow flurries dancing all around him.

“Hurry up, please, it’s cold,” I fussed. And, in no particular hurry, still trying to look up over his shoulder, he crawled into our cluttered van, and we were off and running again.

That’s when I saw it … the most amazing sky I’ve ever seen. Plump, magenta clouds, hanging so heavily above the yellow, morning sunrise, that you’d swear you could reach up and touch them. “Wow” was all I could say, and I realized that this was what my son had been looking up at … and I had rushed him. “You’ve got to take a picture of that,” he said. Somehow, all the way to the market, with my eyes wide open, I’d missed it.

So, we drove home as fast as we could to get the camera, but by the time we got it, that amazing sky had gone, faded away into our memories.

We get up early, around 6 a.m., and each day is a whirlwind of drop-offs and pick-ups, playtimes and private lessons. Our van is a mess. It smells like tennis shoes (that never have mates) and fast food. The CD player doesn’t work. No one knows when nearly $5 in change got poked into it. So, now we sing our own songs instead of listening to The Wiggles. We have a good time.

Some mornings, I don’t stop to brush my own hair or put on makeup. My socks don’t always match my outfit. I don’t have time to go to the hairdresser for highlights, get my nails done, or go to the mall to try on clothes and shop for myself.

I don’t take long, relaxing baths. It’s a quick ‘in and out’ for me—before the kids or the contents of all the bathroom drawers join me. In a matter of seconds, an entire roll of toilet paper can be unraveled. While I bathe, there’s constant talking, knock-knock jokes that make no sense, and 20 questions about anatomy, when all I want is a little quiet time.

It’s a waste of time to clean the house, so I don’t really do it well unless we have company … which we never do. Since my best friend moved away, I guess it’s been a year or two now, I haven’t had time to make any new friends. I spend a lot of time in the laundry room; the pile never seems to go down.

I’ve spent more than half my time on this earth with my wonderful husband, but I’m sorry to admit that now he gets the worst of me. If the kids go to sleep at a reasonable time, then we can have 5 minutes of meaningful conversation or hear our favorite TV shows. I’m exhausted all the time, and I’m usually asleep by 8 or 9.

But, in no time, our kids won’t be sneaking into our bedroom to sleep on our floor, ask us for one more story or cup of milk … because they’ll be tucking in their own kids. They’ll have their own busy lives to run. Just like those amazing magenta clouds, their childhood days are fading fast. Our house will become calm and quiet. I’ll be able to sleep late, slow down. I’ll have all the time in the world … to think about today … and I’ll miss it.