When Bub turned three we had his birthday party at his favorite park by our house and he showed us just how big a three-year-old was by climbing the ladder on the playground all by himself.
Tomorrow he has kindergarten round-up to prepare him for starting school in the Fall. I'm so, so excited for him, but seriously, where does the time go?
I remember as a kid defining the transition from winter to warm by my first scraped knee. Scabbed knees always meant summer. We aren't there yet, but I have one last drop of optimism in me that says if we can make it through this weekend then warmer weather will make more than its recent lackluster entrance. Spring will come...just a few more days.
Our park trips, and any trips, have been like learning a new language with three boys in tow. Even staying home with three boys is an art form all of its own. But in these first three weeks I've learned that managing this loveable chaos is all about managing expectations.
Knowing which bars to raise, which to lower, which to forget ever existed. I struggle to keep the house clean, so I settle for organized instead. I look around at the tidy, uncluttered rooms and breath a sigh of relief and ignore handprints on the wall or a sticky spot on the floor.
Monday we started our week with no laundry or chores and a clean house. And that's ok. Tuesday we ignored all household duties and played in the park and bought new hot wheels cars. And that's ok too.
Some days I'm showered, in makeup, and my hair is done. Some days I wear earrings that match my cardigan. And some days I'm lucky just to make it out of the yoga pants I slept in. And thankfully by my third baby I've accepted that losing the baby weight while breastfeeding means wearing Spanx and hoping for the best.
The bar is always moving, always adjusting, always accommodating. It's an art, a wave, a balancing act, a chaotic fluid motion of always rolling with the punches that is also in a really achy way...soothing.
Raising three boys is soothing in an achy way.
In the frustrating moments when my expectations are hard to manage and I set the bar too high or too low and someone is crying or fighting or making a mess, I remind myself what else could I be doing right now. And the answer is always nothing. Nothing, because there is nothing better I could be doing than raising these boys. So wherever the bar is set, the only thing thing that really matters is that all of my boys are happy. Nothing else matters. All of the boys must be happy. That is truly the only bar I care about.
Read more from Jessica at bubandteebs.com