So there's this scene in the movie
It's a Wonderful Life that probably changed my life. Multiple times. It's that part on Christmas Eve when one kid's sick in bed, one's tossing tinsel on the tree and needs help with spelling, one kid's practicing piano, and one's tugging on the parents' shirt to tell them they burped. It's all quite festive and pleasantly chaotic.
When I was 20 years old really watching the movie for the first time, that scene contributed to my desire for a big family--lots of kids, lots of fun, lots of love. It seems sort of silly now to build a life around an image from a movie, but it certainly did wiggle its way into my consciousness about how I envisioned family life as my relationship with Kevin deepened.
Then it happened. I got the big family, with five kids and lots of fun and lots of love. And lots of noise, and lots of activity, and my little chaotic scene developed a life of its own. What I hadn't realized is that it's like that ALL THE TIME. So much activity, so much noise. Not usually very festive, and not always pleasant. It's a daily occurrence right around 5:30 to be oscillating between cooking, making dinner, and managing laundry. All while holding an upset toddler, helping two kids move past some squabble over a toy or game, conversing about math homework, and listening to flute practice. We're continually working with the kids on not all talking at the same time, not asking for help with one thing after another.
Confession: I don't always handle it with a smile on my face. A year or so ago, the craziness was threatening to undo me. Something needed to change. But then that image of the Bailey family popped into my head again, and I remembered--this is the family and the life I wanted and waited for all these years. I just didn't quite realize what it would look like. The every-minute-of-every-dayness of it. What needed to change was how I looked at it. So I tried, minute by minute, not just to accept the noise, activity, chaos, but
embrace it. Thank God for it. Fighting it was futile. For encouragement, I reminded myself that it won't always be this way. It's a season. Things will calm down a little.
Now, with the oldest eleven and the youngest two, I find myself on the brink of just such a change. Nellie is the tiniest bit doing her own thing at home--playing her keyboard or reading in her room, emailing friends, texting her cousins from my phone. Mary Cate is the tiniest bit more independent, though she still doesn't like me being out of sight. I see quite plainly that
it won't always be this way. Instead of whispering those words for encouragement, it's just fact. I can embrace, and appreciate, and value this fleeting stage. I know I'll look back on it very fondly, though I hope I don't lose the hard realities of the memories, too. Then, I can be nothing but gracious and serve others in this wonderful (season of) life.
