I should be doing the dishes. They have piled up again. Instead I stare at the massive crusty pile and wish them away. But they stubbornly refuse to clean themselves.
I should be cleaning the living room. It has been overrun with all the things that belong somewhere else but somehow creep back in when I'm not looking. Then I turn around and am greeted with a scene from a horror movie. I should be putting all the things back where they belong. I should be scolding my children and making them put the things back where they belong. But I lack the energy to follow them around pointing out each item and explaining in detail how and where it should be. Instead I watch and listen to my children blissfully playing. Totally unaware of the chaos that surrounds them.
I should be writing a blog post. Something insightful, or eventful, or charming, or witty. Instead I stare at a blank screen as the words refuse to form themselves. My head swirls with tiny snippets of thought that flee like butterflies from my net.
I should be working on my blog design. Maybe finally redoing my blog roll. I took it down months ago to reorganize it and have never gotten around to putting it back up. Instead I find myself frustrated that I can never get those little buttons to line up just the way I want.
I should be commenting on a million different blog posts that have made me laugh, made me think, made me cry. Instead I find my words inadequate to express the intense emotion they have evoked.
I should be making dinner. My husband will be getting off work soon. The kids never cease to be hungry. Instead I sit and think of all the other things I should be doing and am not. I forgot to thaw out any meat last night and now it's a bit late to be planning. Instead it will be a take out or fend for yourself night.
I should be painting my walls or trim or finishing any of a million projects. Instead I remember the last time I tried to paint the trim in my living room, home with the two kids, and ended up with painted curtains instead. Courtesy of my son's distraction and my daughter's creativity.
I should be doing laundry. My daughter has a checkup at the doctor tomorrow and so I will need suitable clothing for wearing out of the house. Instead I will wait for the cover of darkness. To hide the hose coming out of the window.
Instead I kiss little owies, and re-adhere stickers that have long ago lost their sticky. Read stories and listen to their dreams. Watch puppet shows and compliment artistic masterpieces. I then wash the masterpiece off the wall. I help with schoolwork and praise my little geniuses. I affirm and direct. Answer a million questions. Laugh at jokes, even when they make no sense. Attempt to understand what "pickle foss" could possibly mean. I break up tiny fights because that one toy is suddenly the only one worth playing with. I console little broken hearts. Because the battery in the toy is dead. I help button buttons, or tie ties. Replace hair bows that have fallen out. I search for lost treasures. Calm little screamers when they have gotten a little overexcited. Provide distractions, dry tears and calm fears. Fondly remember those years when nap time provided a welcome break. I wipe up little spills, or at least throw a towel over the mess. I make lunch and snacks. Open yogurts and bananas. Peel apples and slice them. Wash the strawberries and cut off the stems. Cut the sandwich into a heart shape or a triangle. Refill water cups. Help them on the potty. Give baths when she didn't quite make it. I worry and wonder and wish. I give hugs and kisses. And get them in return.
And I treasure these tiny moments.