Sunday mornings are usually crazy around here. They don't have to be, really, because our children wake with the dawn and we don't leave for church for another three hours. But there we are every week, starting the process of getting ready about thirty minutes before we have to leave and since there are seven of us, that's cutting it ridiculous.
It's usually Nick and I, running up and down the stairs, hurriedly getting dressed, checking to see who is grabbing clothes and socks and shoes for which kid. Combing hair, taming curls, brushing teeth, changing diapers, grabbing bottles, and coloring books and crayons to occupy the kids during the service.
This week there was a moment where he and I were switching places at the changing table, me doing Frances hair, him rushing past after changing Ivah and he said over his shoulder, "I bet someday we will look back and wish we had one more busy Sunday morning." I told him to hush, that I can't think about things like that or I'll get teary and weepy and surely we'll be late for church.
An hour later, in the middle of mass, I held a drooly, teething Ivah on my lap. Lute was at my side, listening to the sermon, Eddie was in Nick's arms, unusually quiet. I looked on the floor where Frances was happily playing with a book and George was by her side. He wrapped his arms around her, whispered something in her ear and she laughed and smiled at him and everything was perfect. And I got teary and weepy, sitting there in the pew, remembering what Nick had said earlier that morning. My heart was full and grateful and I felt like this was more than I could've asked or hoped for.
And two minutes later things were normal again. Hushing the kids, Frances standing on a hymnal, shouting "Mom!" over and over like she does. Eddie or George or both of them were rolling around on the ground even though I've told them five THOUSAND times not to lay on the floor during church and I had to laugh a little because this was far more normal to me than the idyllic moment I'd experienced moments before.
But all of it. Every perfect moment, every chaotic one, they all add up to this beautiful life. Not perfect, not calm or serene or without its moments of crazy. But beautiful.
And I know he's right. That one day we will look at each other and wish for one more crazy Sunday morning.