Falling Waffles
In the end, it’s not just about the waffles we drop, but the sweetness we find in picking them back up
As I opened the back car door to lift my daughter from her car seat, an uneaten waffle tumbled to the ground.
Without a second thought, I found myself singing to the tune of Maggie Rogers’ “Fallingwater” — “Falling Waffle.”
To some, it might just be a waffle on the pavement, butter nestled in its tiny squares, syrupy and sticky. But to me, it was more than that.
Waffles have always held a special place in my heart. As a child, they were my morning ritual before school, sometimes with a sneaky scoop of chocolate ice cream on top before my dad came downstairs.
Now, as a mother, they’ve become the quick, reliable breakfast when we’re running late, a source of comfort and routine for my children, and, yes, an easily tossed frisbee from the car.
As I stood there, waffle on the ground and the song on repeat on my mind, I realized that this was motherhood in all its chaotic beauty. Because motherhood is about finding humor in the little mishaps, love in the hectic moments, and meaning in the everyday chaos.
Because motherhood is messy.
It’s full of interrupted schedules and “Don’t touch that!”
It’s embedded with rushed timelines and stepping on Legos.
It’s too much peanut butter squishing out of the sides of a sandwich as you slice it.
There’s no straight line, no easy answers. There’s no off button, and even when the lights go out, the nightlight of responsibility glows brightly from the next room.
And as I scooped up my daughter and placed her on the pavement I recognized that these are the moments that truly matter — the sticky, imperfect, beautifully messy moments that weave together the fabric of our lives.
Because in the end, it’s not just about the waffles we drop, but the sweetness we find in picking them back up.
