An ice storm has swept across North Texas this week, closing down our tiny nook of the world for the past few days. Normally Matt works six days a week, and although we try to keep a Saturday sabbath, it seems like every weekend this month is filled to the brim with activities and events outside of our control.

So when school was canceled, Tuesday became sort of a make-up sabbath for our family, and it felt very distinctly like the Lord was providing a do-over for us in our exhaustion.

But along with the gratitude and extra rest, I have found myself bearing the weight of this expectation to create magic for my kids. I have taken on the job of manufacturing moments in effort to help them remember these “snow” days for years to come. The problem is, nothing ever plays out as perfectly as it does in my mind. And despite my best efforts of pulling out the paints and bundling up the boys to slide around our yard or whipping out the hot chocolate and marshmallows at ten o’clock in the morning, by mid afternoon the boys are already bored and completely done with each other.

I write this to say that I think there is this pressure for parents, and maybe more specifically for moms, that has us convinced the rest of the world is making core memories while we are just over here trying to survive on our last box of frozen waffles. That other children are living their best lives while ours are actively trying to kill each other.

I think there’s room to show gratitude for the gift of being home and warm and safe together while also recognizing that it’s not going to be picture-perfect. That the pictures I scroll through of kids helping their parents bake in the kitchen or sledding down glorious hills in their own backyards are just snap shots in time. And there are quite possibly a thousand moments in between filled with bickering and boredom and mindless tv watching.

There is also an entire demographic of parents who are having to work from home while simultaneously entertaining their kids. And while I am thankful to not have a full time job that demands this kind of attention, I am very familiar with the feeling of having a divided focus. Of worrying that the boys have approached me one too many times with my laptop open, unable to meet their gaze.

Soon, I imagine it will be business as usual. We are on our third day of roads precluding us from getting out. Food supplies are running dangerously low in the Bell house, and I’m realizing that my boys would never survive an apocalypse, primarily because they have an uncanny ability to blow through snacks three hours in.

But for today, I will adjust my expectations. My boys will enjoy another day of having both parents home. They will spend fifteen minutes locating lost gloves and getting bundled up to spend eleven minutes outside before realizing ice is a poor substitute for snow. We will watch too many movies and scrounge together whatever we can to snack on. My husband and I will pass the baton back and forth to ensure we are meeting deadlines and keeping things afloat that exist outside our four walls. We will have perhaps a few picturesque moments sprinkled throughout an otherwise very ordinary day. And it will be enough for our heads to hit their pillows tonight, content and thankful for this not so picture perfect life.