"Daddy and Mommy" a portrait by Evalyn
I got in the shower this morning and turned on the water. The spray is not a trickle or a wussy stream, but it comes out full and firm on your head.
I soaped up my hair with my shampoo, all the while reminding Evalyn to please not flush while mommy is in the shower and trying to keep Judah from climbing in with his jammies on.
I get out and bury my face in a fluffy towel that smells like laundry detergent (I recently switched to Tide and will never go back).
I put on all of my lotions and creams, get dressed, and go downstairs to dry my hair. I get out the hair dryer and automatically flush the toilet where I know Gavin peed and was too sleepy to remember that minor detail in his early morning fog.
I turn on the hair dryer while simultaneously trying to keep Judah from climbing on the stool-turning on the water-playing in the toilet-putting cars in the washing machine-putting on my make-up.
I finish up and pick up Judah, seeing that he has soaked through his diaper and pajamas. I take him to the sink, soap him up with dish washing liquid, hose him off, then take him to get dressed.
I make the kids breakfast, get Gavin's back pack ready for school, and get the rest of them dressed. I go to my room to pick up the laundry and see that Judah has made cat food soup again by dumping the cat's food into his water.
I clean that up and go downstairs to put Gavin on the bus, stopping to pick up random dirty clothes and discarded jammies to throw in the laundry.
I get him on the bus, kiss my hubby on his way out the door, and sit down with my cup of coffee thinking of my morning and all of the things I have to do on this day.
Normally, I might gripe when cleaning up the cat food, or complain about all the laundry that is piling up in baskets, but today I am looking at things with a different perspective.
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I spent the weekend in the hospital with a kidney infection that was pretty serious, and I laid in a bed that smelled like the hospital, tethered to an i.v., watching the sun through the window. I took showers with plastic over my i.v. site, washing my hair with the hospital issued shampoo since I forgot mine at home, drying myself off with towels the size of large washcloths. I ate my meals sitting by myself in bed, surrounded by silence. It was misery. The nurses were lovely, food was good, visitors encouraging and sweet, but I hated every second of it. When I walked through the doors of my house on Sunday afternoon, I was welcomed by all the sights, sounds, smells, and chaos that mean HOME to me. Three days without it made me understand how much I take my everyday life for granted. I understood that my family gives me a reason to wake up and be joyful, expectant that something fun or interesting, or maybe even a little gross will happen today. There will be messes, tears, laughter, fighting, laundry, cleaning, and a million other things to fill my day, but it will be good. This morning was just a typical day in my life as a mom, but it was so much sweeter.
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