Yesterday, I was still trying to get myself ready when my mom came to the door at 9 am. The boys were dressed and fed, but my hair was still wet. I put the basher down for a nap and Grandma Caryn played outside with the punk while I finished getting ready. Then she stayed with the boys while I went grocery shopping. Who would have thought that grocery shopping by myself would be such a luxury? I returned home and unloaded the groceries from the car, put them away, started the chicken in the crock pot, unloaded the dishwasher, loaded it with the dirty stuff in the sink, and made two fat turkey sandwiches for my mom and me. As we were enjoying our lunch outside with the punk, I told her that I had been trying to hurry through all these morning chores so I could begin my day. As soon as I had that thought, I realized that I had it wrong. These things that I was trying to cross off my list ARE my day. I don't have the luxury of "getting ready" for the day. The minute the basher starts squeaking is the minute my day begins. As soon as I came to this realization, I felt relief. The stress of trying to "get ready" melted away and I was able to take a step back and watch the punk enjoy his drippy popsicle. Because cleaning his face and clothes is just another part of my day. And this day is a good one.
[mmm... melty goodness]
[oops... melty goodness on the ground]