The day I got a medal, was just an ordinary day. A lazy Sunday, where we only got out of our pajamas because they got covered in food coloring. It was a movie marathon kind of day. A left-overs for dinner day. I didn’t clean a single thing (except the dog pee off of the carpet). I left the clean laundry in a pile on the recliner and the dishes stacked in the sink, because Sundays are family days.
The day I got a medal, I did not make a fancy Pinterest breakfast; it was a Lucky Charms morning. I did not have a fancy Pinterest activity planned and prepped today, for we were all just content to do nothing together.
The day I got a medal, I said ‘yes’ when the 3 year old asked if we could make a snow volcano, even though I knew it was going to be a royal mess. I also said ‘yes’ to painting the snow, which equated to the kids dropping food coloring directly onto it because I was feeling too lazy to mix up water colors. We all got covered in food coloring from all our snow fun; I’m quite sure the stains will never fully come out of our clothes.
The day I got a medal, no one’s hair got combed. We didn’t learn a single thing. And nap times got completely messed up.
Yet there were still hidden triumphs in this lazy, wasted day. Hidden in my 3 year old’s telling me that God’s promise goes from Abraham, to Issac, to Jacob, from memory. Hidden in their smiles and laughs.
Hidden in my 1 year old saying the prayer before we ate.
And so on this lazy day, my 3 year old daughter came up to me and placed the tassel from the living room curtain around my neck and said, “Mom, you get a medal!” What did I do to deserve such acclaim? “You kept my sister off the table while I ate my cereal.” Then she gave me a hug, and went on to play.
There was nothing significant about today if you look at it on paper. Nothing at all extraordinary, except the memories we made. Memories of colored snow volcanoes and snuggles on the couch. Memories of princess coloring sheets and making play chicken pot pie soup (the 3 year old’s recipe, of course).
Memories of Bible stories, which are already becoming etched onto their hearts. Of prayers together. Of singing the same songs on repeat all day, each time with the same enthusiasm. I know that when my children are grown up and they look back on their childhood, that they will remember days like today with a fondness in their hearts. Because when I look back at my childhood, I remember times spent watching The Wonderful World of Disney as a family; having my mom do my makeup and dress me up in her clothes; laying around a pool with my sister. It is the every day nothingness that is so extraordinary, because that’s where relationships live.
Relationships live in the snuggles, in the messy play, in the extra Eskimo kisses before bed.
So on this day that I accomplished absolutely nothing, I somehow accomplished everything.
Because today, my daughter gave me a medal for being a good mom.