I’ve been trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I can’t do big things. And it’s hard. Sure, when we talk it through, I’m prioritizing things right. Worship God, feed and clothe my family and generally care for them physically and emotionally, and then clean house. But when I’m at church an average of ten times a week, and choosing to fix fresh, healthy, and (mostly) delicious food for my family, and nursing the baby whenever she insists she needs what she considers Real Food (she figures table food is just an Experimental Adventure – she quite enjoys it, but is always happy to be out of her seat and latched on, making sure her baby rolls stick around), and hanging out the wash again, I have to face the fact that my bedroom is going to look like this most days:
And you know what? I’m okay with that. That doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean you won’t find me in tears about it at least once a week. That doesn’t mean I don’t utter a seemingly endless stream of ‘if only’s every day. What it does mean is that I also acknowledge that while I don’t like cleaning to be my hobby that I can’t wait to do a little bit of if the baby falls asleep sooner than usual, I do like having such a contented, trusting baby. While I cry about wishing I had time to spend doing projects that aren’t absolutely necessary, I also rejoice to see my family appreciate my cooking (and yeah, I appreciate it as much as they do). While I can’t seem to stop looking longingly at the luscious green grass on the other side of the fence, I do take time to squish my toes around in the cool mud on my side of the fence. I have a great family, And they like me. If I’m all stressed out about how heaping my plate is with ‘things I gotta do’ and ‘things I wanna do’, not only do I not like me, but they don’t find it easy to like me either. Being contented with my gorgeous messy life is a decision I have to make every minute of every day. And it’s to easy to forget that as hard as it is, it’s also worth it.
Speaking of needing to remember things, I like having physical reminders about the house. On our mirror, daily prayers from the retreat we’re doing together. On the wall above/beside the toilet, a collage of our rings and the words we said when we put them on each other on our wedding day.
So. I got eggplant at the store. And then Stephen said he doesn’t really care for eggplant parmesan. At which point I decided, with the help of Scalini’s recipe, to prove him wrong. Have you ever tried frying breaded eggplant while wearing a baby that wants to touch All the Things? I thought not. Where is your sense of adventure, my friend?
Sometimes, when she wants Mama to take her to bed, this is all she wants to do there.
Because I couldn’t just choose one. The bathroom is the most magical place. Especially the tub. I’ve caught her trying to climb into the tub. Yikes. And she discovered that sometimes, Mommy splashes diapers in the toilet, and for some reason, doesn’t want help with that fun game, even when she stands up and leeeeeans over to show Mommy how well she could reach.
We got to give blood on Monday! Maria was not thrilled to be separated from Mommy for so long. She had had a long day, and seeing was no longer believing. If she couldn’t feel Mommy, then Mommy must not exist.
Not all the little things in our lives are attractive, and that’s okay.