The Journal of an Honest Mom

I have four kids.
One morning Child #2 had a doctor’s appointment about an hour away. Baby #4 was still breastfeeding, so he came with us. That left Child #1 and Child #3 home with my husband.
Now… we’ve got to leave around 7:00 in the morning.
And here’s where I made my mistake. I thought, “He can handle breakfast.”I mean… it’s oatmeal. How hard could oatmeal be? To be fair, my husband can make breakfast. He’s done it before. Not often. Maybe three times? But enough that I wasn’t worried.

Well…

Apparently I should’ve been.

While I was sitting at the doctor’s office, my husband managed to smoke up the entire house making oatmeal. No, he didn’t actually burn the house down. There wasn’t a fire. But there was enough smoke that the smoke alarms decided everybody needed to know breakfast wasn’t going well.
When I got home, I smelled it before I even opened the door.
Then I walked inside.

Dirty dishes were still on the table.

The oatmeal pot was still sitting on the stove.

Burned oatmeal had bubbled over onto the burner.

It was… impressive.

Then my oldest walked up to me and said,
“Mom… why did you leave breakfast to Dad? Why didn’t you make it?”

Y’all…

I laughed.

I know some people probably would’ve been offended by that. I wasn’t. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He was genuinely confused.
Because in his little world…
Mom makes breakfast. Then I started thinking. Maybe this wasn’t really about oatmeal.
I spend a lot of time thinking about all the big things I have to do as a mom.
But I don’t spend much time thinking about all the little things.

The clothes laid out the night before.

Making sure everybody has shoes.

Making sure somebody goes to the bathroom before we leave.

Feeding the baby before an hour-long drive because I’d really rather not listen to him scream the whole way there.

Making breakfast.

Packing snacks.

Finding the lost water bottle.

You know…
The stuff nobody really notices because it just gets done. That morning I skipped one of those little things because I figured they’d be okay. And they were.
Mostly.
Minus the oatmeal.
I don’t tell this story because I’m trying to say my husband can’t cook. He can. He just had… an off day.
I tell it because I realized something that I hadn’t really thought about before.
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by all the little things on my plate.
Not resentful.
Just overwhelmed.
But that morning reminded me that maybe those little things aren’t as invisible as I thought they were.

My husband noticed.

My kids noticed.

Not because anybody sat around thanking me every morning for making oatmeal. But because when it didn’t happen… Everybody noticed.
It’s kind of funny, really.
I walked into a house that smelled like smoke, with dirty dishes everywhere and burned oatmeal glued to the stove…
…and somehow I walked away feeling appreciated.
Life is weird like that. I’m thankful my husband didn’t burn the house down. But I’m also kind of thankful he burned the oatmeal.
Because sometimes it takes a smoky kitchen to remind you that the little things you’ve been doing all along really do matter