My oldest, a 7th grader, started playing football this year.
At age 12, this is the fulfillment of his Life Dream.
But it’s different than he expected.
Even though he knew what to expect.
We’d talked to him about the realities he’d face. That practices were going to be hot, and hard. And not necessarily fun.
He was as mentally prepared as he could be, and he’s always been one to have a good attitude, so he’s been (mostly) loving it.
But a few days ago, he said, “Mom, I’ve realized that when I dreamed about playing football, I only thought about the games. Now that I’m doing it, I realize it’s all about the practices. The games are only a small part.”
Wisdom from someone still shorter than me. (At least for the next few days.)
When I dreamed of having my own home, of being a mom, I only thought about the parties. The playdates. The moments when we’d sit in the living room (on my perfectly matched furniture) and laugh while eating artistically-plated snacks.
But having a home, being a mom, being hospitable . . . isn’t about the parties. It’s about the practices. It’s about doing the dishes and vacuuming the floors and picking up the socks that never seem to make it into the hamper. Those are the things I didn’t picture. I knew about them. Logically, I would have told you that of course I understood the importance of each of those daily tasks.
But I didn’t. I didn’t realize that those daily tasks are it. They are the heart of being a mom and a homemaker.