Falling into Glitter

This story begins in a tiny hospital delivery room on a rainy November afternoon.

Today, nearly nine years later, there’s glitter on the kitchen towels.

***

My budding astronomers plant themselves at the table, fight over the markers and glitter glue, and begin eagerly scribbling sheets of white paper to look like the night sky studded with stars. They are happy, busy, and not asking to be entertained so I hold my tongue and don’t suggest black construction paper might be more efficient.

Thinking everything is under control, I sneak away for a bathroom break and close the door. Famous last words. (I will pause while you laugh at my foolishness.)

At first, the soundtrack of their scribbles and giggles is pleasant and I am not complaining about the absence of little fingers wedging themselves into the crack under the door. Then, it is suddenly quiet.

(Uh oh.)

It isn’t long before “Mommy!” thunders through the same crack whose emptiness I was just celebrating.

From behind the bathroom door, I suspect a minor glitter glue mess or maybe a disagreement over a pair of scissors.

But they found the glitter, the real stuff. (Of course they did.)

They pulled it out of the deep, dark corners of the craft cupboard.

They liberally coated their (mostly) black paper in blobs of glue.

And then they opened a few tubes of glitter, dumping more than they needed onto their sticky glue night sky scenes.

When I emerge from the other side of the bathroom door, mere minutes later, a cringeworthy scene meets me.

The three year old is working on something that resembles a snow angel in a pile of glitter on the floor. The six year old looks a little guilty and, despite my efforts to confiscate the rest of the glitter, the eight year old insists on “just a little more” and gleefully finishes off whatever is left in the tube. (In case you don’t know my daughters, this is a fairly accurate representation of their personalities.)

Despite my rising blood pressure, I am in a reasonably good mood today so I take a deep breath, exhale, and resign myself to glitter clean up.

***

Motherhood is falling into glitter.

At first, it’s everywhere. It’s messy. It’s impossible to hide despite my sometimes desperation to do exactly that and I couldn’t clean it up if I tried.

But eventually the glue dries and the glitter starts to float away.

I pack away the newborn clothes. The crib and the board books join the baby clothes in storage. The stroller gathers dust in the garage. Milk dries up. No one calls out for me in the night. (I’m still waiting for that one.) Suddenly grown children start school.

Each shift in the seasons of motherhood releases another shimmering deluge I race to clean.

***

I try to erase the sparkly remnants of craft time, but there is little hope. I warily swipe a few piles off the edge of the table, decorating myself in the process. I dampen a paper towel in a futile effort to wipe at least a little of it off the floor. I carefully scoop another pile off the table (covering the floor again) and move the dripping, glittering art out of reach as quickly as possible.

The three year old sneaks upstairs, her glitter trail betraying her escape attempt. Now, there is glitter on the couch, the living room floor, the stairs, and my bed along with her hair and fingers. 

The older sisters dutifully wash their hands as thoroughly as only children can, hence the glitter on the towels.

My husband, who is working in a different room, blissfully unaware of the entirety of the commotion, emerges an hour later sporting a speck of glitter on his cheek.

My house is not clean, but it is definitely sparkling, all thanks to a few teaspoons of glitter.

***

As the years pass since that November afternoon delivery room glitter plunge, I catch myself spending less time mopping up both literal and figurative glitter. But I still find it often enough: a speck on my cheek and another in a prayer (and another in the third sibling fight I’ve settled today).

But eventually, unexpectedly, instead of fuming and scrambling to banish these specks to the trash, I tuck them safely away, willing them to stick to my soul.

I imagine myself, decades from now, hopefully with grandchildren, smiling as I continue to find shimmering specks.

I’m still hiding the craft glitter but I kind of like the way motherhood sticks.

Despite the mess, we sparkle.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Make A Mess".