I hate to do dishes. Tedious and mindless. Hands numbing. Pruning. But we do them. Everyday. That little window of joy, of satisfaction I feel glancing at the empty counter once it’s done, is decadent.
Mothering is like that sometimes. Mindless and decadent…
I’m currently listening to my two kids whisper back and forth to each other in the other room. They should have been asleep hours ago. Instead, thanks to my upstairs neighbors’ dinner guests, I hear my eight month old loudly “AHHH, BAAA, BPPPFFFFTTT, AHHHH” over to her two and a half year old brother. She’s only met with loud “SHHHHHHHHHHH”s and an occasional grumpy sigh.
I am blessed and I don’t know how to thank for it.
I watched TREE OF LIFE this week. Intense, pretentious, and lovely. I’ve been haunted by it since. It hit the piece of me that feels I am so small. So so so small. Sometimes so empty. I get foggy. And mindless. And before I know it, I’m numb. Lost in what feels like the day to day battle of tedious moments. Just survive.
A text from my husband on a far away weekend trip. The spitty shushes from the other room. The shared dishes from a filling meal. Suddenly I’m whole again.
Big. Bigger than I know how to hold. Bigger than I know how to live.
I am blessed and I know enough to thank for it.