This morning, I was texting back and forth with my husband about menu ideas for Thanksgiving. We were trying to decide which dishes to cook, who to invite, and where we wanted to host this year, if at all. It dawned on me how funny it is that it’s the first day of fall and I’m already planning Thanksgiving, but on the other hand, that’s just who I am. That’s who I’ve always been. I am someone who is always looking forward to the next big thing.
Now, I’m not one of those crazy people who puts their Christmas tree up on the first of October, but I am always planning several weeks to a month out in advance, whether it’s in regards to the next holiday or simply trying to squeeze in a girls’ night out into my busy schedule. My color-coded Google Calendar is the master of it all. I couldn’t tell you what I’m going to be doing at 3:00pm on October 12th, but I guarantee you my calendar can. I’m sure by the time Halloween rolls around, I will be thinking of which dishes I want to whip up for New Year’s Day. I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with always keeping an eye to the future. After all, have you been in Target lately? They’ve had pumpkins out since mid-July! We live in a consumeristic society, whether or not we like it, and the whole entire world around us is designed to constantly push us towards what’s next on our calendars.
My affinity for planning ahead extends beyond just holidays and social events. As much as I’m looking forward to taking my kids to the pumpkin patch again, or celebrating the twins’ first birthday, I’m also looking forward to finally graduating school, hopefully getting a job, and not tracking every single penny going in and out of my bank account like my life depends on it (because right now it does). I’m looking forward to stability and safety, and maybe a vacation or two a year. Nothing crazy, but right now it does kind of seem like a far-fetched lifestyle. Even though I have a tendency to both be wishing I was in a different phase of life and to be planning the next house party the day after the last one ends, there is a part of me that just wishes things would slow down.
Maybe it’s because it’s autumn, or maybe it’s because, at the time that I’m writing this, my twins are seven months old to the day, but I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on just how quickly time moves. The passage of time stings just a little more when you’re a mother.
Every day, when I tuck my kids into bed for the night, I’m keenly aware that they will never be this young again. They will never be this small, this innocent, this little. Every day, they grow slightly bigger and become slightly older, often in subtle and indistinguishable ways.
But in the seven-ish years I’ve spent as a mother so far, I’ve learned how it goes. When you’re in the thick of it, it can seem like time is crawling by. But then, all of a sudden, one day you wake up and realize that your baby is starting preschool, or starting kindergarten, or moving on to middle school. So although I often feel like the days are going by in slow motion, they end up accumulating almost quicker than I can even comprehend.
I try not to carry too much guilt about this. I know that it’s just the way things are, and I don’t need to be beating myself up over my love for planning out dinner parties two months in advance. If I want to curate my Thanksgiving menu when September is not even over yet, that’s fine. The world already makes moms feel guilty about enough! I don’t need to add to that, but I do think it’s worth pausing to recognize the flip side of things.
When Thanksgiving finally rolls around, my babies will be nine months old, which is still a baby, but I already know it will be so different than the seven-month-olds that they are today. I will love seeing them at that age, but I will miss them the way they are now, too. Thus is the dichotomy of motherhood: constantly looking forward to the next milestones while also missing all of the ones that have already passed.
I don’t have any magical solution to this or profound words of wisdom for forever living in the moment. In truth, I probably won’t change my ways, either — my Google Calendar won’t let me! But I do think it’s always worth taking some time to pause and reflect on how much exists in the present to be grateful for.
I am so grateful for my twin seven-month-old girls. They both just figured out how to crawl, and one loves to make a beeline for the dog’s water bowl to splash around, and the other likes to chew on her dad’s electrical cords underneath his desk, but they’re cute, so they get a pass.
I am grateful for my three older kids, because only having them with us half of the time has taught me to be thankful for even the most mundane (or disappointing or tough or frustrating moments). I would take a house full of rambunctious, energetic kiddos over a quiet house every time. And if I struggle with having a quiet house every other week now, I can’t imagine how I’ll feel when all five of my kids are grown and have moved out. When those days come, I’ll reminisce on the very days I struggle through now.
I am grateful for every single thing in our house, from the tablecloth that dresses up our dining room table that we got off the side of the road, to closets full of clothes, to tiny, unimportant things like my houseplant that refuses to die and the blue floral spoon rest on my stovetop that I finally splurged on last year. There’s no need to beat around the bush: we’re pretty poor. But rather than that creating a constant sense of jealousy, it instead makes me incredibly grateful for everything we do have.
I could go on forever, but maybe most of all, I’m grateful for my husband. He is the glue that keeps our family together, truly. He keeps me grounded and motivated, and never fails to make me feel safe and loved beyond measure. The kids adore him, and he is the most involved and present dad. I can count on my hands how many times I’ve had to do a night feeding with the twins, and that’s 100% because of him. He makes every hard season of life easier to navigate, and through it all, we are best friends.
I can be grateful for all of the above, and still start Christmas shopping the day after Labor Day. There are so many voices out there — podcasts, blogs, well-meaning grandparents, overly-edited Instagram reels — that would have you believe it’s one or the other. That you’re either present, or you’re not. That you’re either grateful, or you’re not. That you’re either curating the Martha Stewart-esque, Pinterest Christian girl autumn inspired, and Montessori toddler lifestyle that all the burnt out suburban moms dream of, or you are the burnt out suburban mom. But all of that is a lie.
You can be on the ground playing with your kids, attention solely on them… and then get up and browse Airbnb for cabins available for a family vacation eight months away.
You can rock your baby to sleep, soaking up the weight of them resting peacefully in your arms… and also be mentally brainstorming themes for their first birthday party.
The biggest lie society tries to sell mothers is that a good mom cherishes every single moment of motherhood, all of the time. And I’m here to tell you that’s just not true.
I am grateful for every little detail of my life right now, because I know one day I’ll miss it, struggles and all.
And I’m still going to revisit my Thanksgiving menu after I’m done writing this.
