The Boring Parts of the Book

With summer upon us, I am trying to remind my offspring that reading is a richer better and less likely to be disturbed by Mom means of passing the time.  Having taken two opposite children to the local Borders to garner a few new options, I had to pitch some tomes to get my 10 year old to acquiesce.  I had to set a limit on the 14 year old who would spend every last sou at a book store and finish all she bought before we got home. 

When we got home, I saw that my oldest had babysat and thus while all were accounted for, dinner loomed and dishes from lunch still needed doing.  I began my evening routine only to be interrupted by the call to change a diaper, settle a fight, plunge a toilet and reset the television code so they could watch Arthur.  Back to dinner, I received two requests to opt out and eat cereal instead and a reminder that I needed to make 24 muffins for the next day for one kid's breakfast party at her class.   I realized that my life was largely spent managing interruptions and plodding about the daily tasks that must be done to make any day run sooth.  I was the filler in between the action points of school or a game or test or birthday.  I was as my son called it, "the boring part of the book." when no actual climatic action is taking place but which get you to the big chapters.

You can't ascribe that sort of a comment to your life without pausing to wonder 1) should I be happy to manage being the seamless strand that allows everything to hold together? And if I'm not, 2) was the fact that I chaffed personally at being only the mortar and not the brick, only the page and not the words or only the words and not the action a sign of pride that was healthy or sinful?  and 3) What if I wanted to pop off the page too?  

The rest of the day, when there was the crazy tripple run where I had to drop child one off at her playoff game then return for the next child to get her to her class then double back to the first field to get the first child to then return for the second and all within a two hour span while putting back together a third child who was having a hard day, I thought I may not know how to sew but this motion I'm doing is stitching.  When the daughter who had been tucked in by her brother with a story and a sippy cup and prayers came down demanding to be put back to bed by me, again it was stitching.  In and out, up and down, putting into their lives the thread that held things together even if I felt frayed like I was falling apart.

My two oldest came to spend a few minutes visiting and they rubbed my shoulders in a conga line (it's part of the mandatory make Mom have fun rule of the house), and we were again, going in and out, back and forth and I could see the boring parts of the book that held it together in that moment.  And while I know I'll still want to star and still want to soar, I also know, all those boring parts of the book get you to the good parts and you won't appreciate the good parts if you skim over the rest.   So I've dusted off a few books for summer and I'm hoping this year, I can plow through them, because this time, I'll understand more how important the boring parts are to the whole story.