One day

It was dark and still inside the house.  I stopped waving goodbye and carefully closed the door as Rich's tail lights disappeared from view.  His early exits each morning happen hours before the kids are moving.  As I carefully crept up the stairs to return to my comfortable bed, I peeked in on each of the kids' room as they slept.  I could hear their deep breaths in and out.

As I snuggled into my pillows waiting for Rich to call me to say he got to the hospital, the thoughts of my children lingered in my mind.  Then as if a fiery dart pierced my heart, one thing seemed to scream out to me in the darkness.  The cold, hard fact that these days with little ones are not forever and no matter how hard I try, they will and are growing up.

One day my house will stay clean for longer than twenty minutes, but I really will miss those scattered crayons and coloring books that clutter the counter.

One day I will not run at least three loads of laundry daily, but I'll desperately want to find those tiny white undershirts and bright pink leggings mixed in with the towels and jeans.

One day I will cook a huge meal and those kids who do not want to eat what I made will no longer eat at my dinner table every night.  There will be far too many leftovers for just the two of us.

One day my fridge door won't be littered with colorful drawings, sweet notes and lunch menus.  It will be white and clean and boring.

One day I won't be going over spelling lists, test review sheets and book orders and I imagine I'll try to recall how their face lit up as they discovered something new, or how their eyes shone with pride when they showed off a great test score. 

One day there won't be incessant dribbling in the front room and a pile of dirty shoes and socks by the front door.  I will long for the boom, boom, boom of a basketball bouncing on the driveway.

One day I won't have a shopping cart full of pop-tarts, juice boxes, fruit snacks and Go-gurts and I'll miss all the oohing and ahhing over the cool toys found in the cereal boxes.

One day I won't pin up hair into buns and help dress my little girls in their pink ballet outfits, and watch them twirl and bend and leap across my kitchen floor.

One day I'll get a good night of sleep, but I'm positive that there will be times when I'll suddenly wake up and wish there was sad face standing next to my bed that needed to be tucked in once again before heading back to dreamland.

One day my car radio won't be blasting The Little Mermaid and The Lion King and I won't be hearing Letter Factory from the car's DVD player, but I am sure I'll be humming those Disney tunes and Leap Frog rhymes wishing I had a little one to sing along with me.

One day I won't have inquisitive kids making me delve into deep discussions about life, for they will be the ones out there figuring it out themselves.

One day it won't be my little brother whom I write on his mission each week, it will be three Elder Jacksons out in the mission field that I'll send letters and packages to. (With a mini Elder Jackson worshiping and missing his three big brothers.)

One day I'll walk into a store alone and my hand will be lonely for those little fingers grasping mine as we hold hands through the parking lot.

One day I won't get to snuggle and cuddle and kiss a baby every night before bed. 

One day I won't be Mommy, just Mom.

I'll look back wishing for just one more night together.  A few more minutes with my kids at these precious ages.  One more night squished on the trundle bed reading Fancy Nancy or one more Family Home Evening when Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam is the song of choice.  One more morning when all my kids are tucked in their beds, under my roof, safe and sound. 

These thoughts break my heart and sting my eyes, but this how life works.  We move and grow and develop and change.  As much as it hurts to look forward, these reflections give me the resolve to be a better mother NOW.  To embrace today.  To sit on the floor and play.  To read that story when they ask.  To play that game we just hadn't gotten around to.  To talk, to listen, to really be there when they need me.

Life is busy.  Life is hard.  Sometimes I feel like I'm swamped with the day to day things and tasks, but it only takes a second of pondering my future so see the blessings of right now.  To soak in the joys of being a mother, even when it's difficult.  To know that when that 'one day' comes, that I can look back and know that every day was a blessing and I never took a second of it for granted.

Because 'one day' will be here far sooner than I could ever imagine.