Sometimes—like, for example, when Andrew's been out of town for a week—I begin to feel like Mr. Bailey...
But then while I'm bathing two children and a third is in the shower, the last will say, "Is it alright if I turn on the light in the living room so I can fold some laundry?"
And I will say, "Of course you may." Because moments like that are as magical as unicorns (and if no one else seems to notice or care how their clothes are folded then neither should I).
Then later, when I come out of the bathroom I found my freshly-bathed toddler getting into a plate of tomatoes that I left on the table after dinner because we've been running here there and everywhere today and just didn't get around to putting them away.
"Argh!" I cry because I was only gone for .2 seconds (how dare I need to pee while my child is awake, right?) and now my freshly-bathed toddler is covered in fresh tomato juice.
My cry startles the toddler, who then frantically shoves a couple more handfuls of tomatoes into the Tupperware container I didn't notice she had before slamming the lid on and running to the fridge, a trail of tomato juice streaming behind her.
"Oh, were you putting away the tomatoes?" I'll ask. "I'm sorry I got upset. You can finish if you want to."
"Yeah!" she'll say and will finish scooping them into the container.
And my heart will melt into a little puddle of goo and I'll remember why we had all these kids: because children really are a joy!
I make a lot of mistakes as a parent (and as a person), but in these fleeting moments—these moments when my children think of others before they think of themselves—I can't help but think that I'm doing one or two things right. But probably just those two things.
Also, PSA for Andrew (and my mom!) who are both on their way here:
1) The laundry still isn't all folded
2) The kitchen is a mess
3) Rescue me; I'm completely outnumbered
But then while I'm bathing two children and a third is in the shower, the last will say, "Is it alright if I turn on the light in the living room so I can fold some laundry?"
And I will say, "Of course you may." Because moments like that are as magical as unicorns (and if no one else seems to notice or care how their clothes are folded then neither should I).
Then later, when I come out of the bathroom I found my freshly-bathed toddler getting into a plate of tomatoes that I left on the table after dinner because we've been running here there and everywhere today and just didn't get around to putting them away.
"Argh!" I cry because I was only gone for .2 seconds (how dare I need to pee while my child is awake, right?) and now my freshly-bathed toddler is covered in fresh tomato juice.
My cry startles the toddler, who then frantically shoves a couple more handfuls of tomatoes into the Tupperware container I didn't notice she had before slamming the lid on and running to the fridge, a trail of tomato juice streaming behind her.
"Oh, were you putting away the tomatoes?" I'll ask. "I'm sorry I got upset. You can finish if you want to."
"Yeah!" she'll say and will finish scooping them into the container.
 |
| I like how she even picked out the stems (I'd left those on the plate as well). Not keeping those! |
I make a lot of mistakes as a parent (and as a person), but in these fleeting moments—these moments when my children think of others before they think of themselves—I can't help but think that I'm doing one or two things right. But probably just those two things.
Also, PSA for Andrew (and my mom!) who are both on their way here:
1) The laundry still isn't all folded
2) The kitchen is a mess
3) Rescue me; I'm completely outnumbered
I can't wait! (Well...I can. I have to. But I am coming!)
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