It had been two weeks of crying, whining, and endless battles just to get out the door in the morning. We kept at it, our routine, our point system, and tried to stay calm (though some screams and frustrations definitely slipped out).
And then, just like that, it shifted.
One morning, everything felt different. I was squeezing in a morning workout when Finley asked, “Can I pack my lunchbox today?” My response: “Yes, of course, just not all snacks.” I know my son, and he would fill his lunchbox with popcorn and chips if there were no boundaries.
“I need help with jelly, please.”
Please, oh my, what is happening right now? We have always instilled manners but the unfolding of this morning was unlike any other. I got out the peanut butter and jelly and slightly untwisted the tops, he finished unscrewing them and made his own peanut butter and jelly. It wasn’t perfect but it was definitely edible. Then he asked for me to cut him an apple, he put in mango pieces on his own and added a cheese stick. Voila, lunchbox done.
“Mom, can I pick out my own snacks?” came next from Finley.
“Of course.” He picked out his snack, put them in the front pocket where they belong. Filled his water bottle with ice and water and loaded it into his backpack. His backpack was ready to go.
Next? Finely went to his bedroom, picked out his outfit, got changed independently including socks and brushed his teeth. I’m trying to get myself showered, dressed and pack my lunch and he is ready to go! Literally, he said “ready mama.” This is amazing!
I almost cried.
The week before, mornings felt like they would never end, dragging him to get dressed, arguments at every step, running late, everyone’s mood grumpy. Two weeks of chaos felt like forever. But suddenly, it was like the storm had passed.
Not every day is perfect now, but mornings are lighter. He helps with his water bottle, packs his snacks, and we always race across the field before school. That laughter, that joy, it changes the whole day. One morning, another family even joined in the running. I thought, yes, this is what it’s about.
The other night, I turned to my husband and said, “These are the good times. Right now.” Even though they feel ordinary, someday I know we’ll look back and see how extraordinary they really were.
Parenting so often feels like riding out storm after storm, waiting for the calm. And when you’re in it, the storm feels endless. But then, almost overnight, it changes. These aren’t just hard moments; they’re growing moments, for our kids and for us. How we move through these moments, model our emotional responses, and show our kiddos how to respond in challenging situations, we are helping them.
So I’m choosing to pause and notice: these are the good times. They may feel ordinary now, but someday we’ll look back and realize they were extraordinary. Growth almost always looks messy before it looks magical.