A Mother’s Training Plan
Disclaimer - I’m currently addicted to writing hermit crab essays. The idea of the “hermit crab” essay—coined by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paola in their 2003 book Tell It Slant—is inspired by the way that hermit crabs take on various items as their shells: they borrow a structure to create their home.
Monday: Rest Day
In a gentle rebellion against the typical Monday rush, we’ve carved out our own calm before the storm of the rest of the week. This day stands in quiet contrast with its slow wakeup and time spent reading aloud, to the world’s hustle. It's a day where the morning unfurls at its own pace, allowing my boys to awaken naturally, greeting the day with ease rather than haste.
Our home becomes an intimate classroom, a place where learning intertwines with life. With no external pressures to contend with - no frantic drop-offs or the usual weekday scramble - Monday becomes our secret sanctuary.
We immerse ourselves in the questions of little boys - can a lizard regrow their tail once it’s been dropped? Do icebergs ever melt? I wonder how tall I am compared to Goliath?
These moments are fleeting, a transient gift that we’re embracing in the here and now, cherishing a rhythm that guides us through the rest of the week.
Tuesday: Tempo Run
With our batteries recharged from a restful Monday, Tuesday brings the start of our busier days. It picks up speed with its packed lunches, will he eat the pickle, the yogurt, or the pepperoni? The moment I drop off my boys at school, I'm propelled into a race against time, each tick of the clock a reminder of the sprint towards our reunion at 3pm.
After the morning send-off, I find myself dashing back home, diving into the aftermath of our previous days. My arms become vessels of order, gathering the scattered remnants - returning clothes to drawers, tucking shoes under benches, drying gloves, feeding frogs. The rhythm of the day is unyielding - stripping beds, refreshing linens, tackling the perpetual cycle of dishes, and orchestrating the harmony of a clean and welcoming space.
In the crescendo of the day, I merge life's tempo with an actual run alongside a friend whose athleticism challenges me. Her easy chatter contrasts with my focused effort to keep pace. Her question, "Do you have 8 in you today?" mirrors the day's unyielding demands. And in my stubborn resolve I nod, “yes”.
I resolve to keep pushing forward, showering quickly, practicing piano and writing a few hundred words on the page, sometimes forgetting more practical things like my own lunch to refuel. In these hours apart, I pour my energy into the spaces and tasks that keep our lives running smoothly, sometimes driven too closely by a to-do list.
Friday: Speed Work
My day begins before the world wakes, joining a group of mom friends for an exhilarating start: touring uphill on our skis. It’s a routine we’ve kept up this season on Fridays, that feels like we’ve done it for years. Together, we conquer a 1500 ft. climb in just 45 minutes, the effort shedding layers as the sun rises, painting the sky in hues of dawn. Our breaths puff out tiny clouds of steam in the cold and our steps synchronize. The conversation flowing from children and husbands to future playdates, or sometimes fading into the silence of exertion as the slope steepens.
I rush back home in the quiet of the morning, returning in time for my husband's first meeting at 7:30 am. The house is buzzing with the morning routines of my boys, their breakfast a chaotic symphony of waffles and whipped cream. I sneak in a quick shower.
Our Friday rhythm transitions to a school day at home. It takes time to rope them in from their play, but eventually we delve into our read aloud. The piano's melodies fill the air with mid-morning Zoom lessons, and by lunchtime our Spanish tutor arrives and the sounds shift to Spanish conversations. The day is a cacophony of learning.
As the afternoon unfurls, 2 pm beckons us outdoors again, this time to the terrain park for laps on skis. My boys love to say, “Watch me Mommy!” and show me all the tricks they’ve been perfecting on the slope. It's a seamless transition from academics to adventure, each lap a burst of freedom.
We welcome the evening with leftovers, the simplicity of the meal allowing us to unwind. With popcorn in hand, we settle in for a movie night together. These are the days I will miss when they’re gone.
Sunday: Long Run
The morning quietly unfurls with a kitchen dance of breakfast and packed lunches. Will the sandwich make it back untouched again, I wonder, or will it come back soggy from being tossed in the snow? After breakfast is made, my solitude is charged with purpose: boots on dryers, gloves paired, helmets lined up like sentinels, skis loaded. Do we have everythign? Each action, a stitch in the morning routine that gets us out the door and on the slopes.
I layer myself against the cold - long underwear, thickest tights, heated socks, sweater, and two jackets. My husband's coffee kiss is a brief pause in the momentum, a shared moment before the day stretches out in front of us. He will ski the mountain solo, while the boys are with their teams.
The mountain calls, but not just for me. I join a band of mothers, each of us seeking the same release, the same connection to something beyond our daily routines. We push each other, finding new limits amidst the snow and sky.
Arriving home from a day well spent, the pace doesn't relent; it simply changes. The afternoon unfolds with the gentle cadence of shared stories about the mountain over steaming cups of cocoa. “I went to Jupiter today Daddy” my son states proudly, leaving me to wonder what an outsider would think of our language. I tick off a few to-do’s while stirring the soup I started this morning. I like to have our ducks in a row before Monday.
It's right here, surrounded by my boys in the heart of our home, that the endurance of motherhood is most palpable.
