Breakfast with 5 kids under 8 years old.

My 2 year old is screaming because the 7 year old is looking at him, and my 6 month old is crying to breastfeed. I’ve just finished serving oatmeal to my 4 children around the table, and my 6 year old spills her cup of water. 

“Wow, we spilled the water before we even started eating this time.” I say with a very melancholy tone as I grab a hand towel. 

While drying the table, I am trying to calm down the 4 year old who is wailing because she doesn’t have the blue cup today. The 7 year old is already scarfing down his breakfast before anyone else has started.

I try to ceremoniously light our mealtime candle while the 4 year old is still crying. The 7 year old is nearly done eating by now.

I then look around the table and ask, “Who would like to say “thank you” this morning?”

“I SAY DANK YOU GOD!” my 2 year old belts out. I wince a little at the noise. It’s barely 9am, and I have already reached my noise overload for the day. 

“Ok, go ahead buddy.” 

“DANK YOU GOD…. AMEN.” 

He is still speaking at an alarming volume. The 7 year old is now done eating. The 4 year old is refusing to eat until she has the blue cup which the 6 year old has and continues to taunt her with.

At this point I glance at the poetry book that I brought to the table 15 minutes prior. 

I smirk a little at the contrast from the Mary Poppins/Sound of Music morning I still somehow envision with me singing to my kids and, then, having them listen quietly as I read them the poem for today.

At this point I am so far beyond that and so far worn, is it even worth it to open up our poetry book this morning? 

Instead I just start reciting one of our poems out loud and, suddenly, each kid chimes in. 

They all say the poem with me. 

I can’t help but give a half smile to the moment. 

I am so frazzled. My kitchen is a mess. My 6 month old is whining for me to switch her to the other breast. My 2 year old, who refuses to wear bibs, is now wearing half of his oatmeal. The four year old is still whining.

But, for just a second, we all connected. We all paused. We all recited a poem together. And we smiled. 

And, then, they put their bowls by the sink and run to play, with me shouting for them to also wash their hands. 

I clean up the 2 year old haphazardly while holding the still actively nursing babe with my other arm. 

And then, I am sitting at the table alone. 

I exhale. The morning has barely begun. And I wonder how much I am really doing for my kids other than feeding them and keeping our house within some realm of cleanliness. 

But I am trying. I am carving away at some sort of rhythm, some sort of investment in their future. I am chiseling out some assemblance of beauty in their daily lives, something that they will remember fondly, I hope.

We don’t get to have it all as parents. But we can choose the few things we do want for our kids, and wearily and lovingly bring that forward everyday. So, if a half recited poem about the birds in winter, and a patient voice when they spilled their water, and a warm, family breakfast is all I managed this morning, so be it. 

Sometimes it is less than this, and sometimes it is more. But, for today, it was enough.