Ignore the hard toothpaste covering the bathroom sink. Ignore the dirt and sand and crumbs on the kitchen floor. Ignore the message your kid wrote in the dust on his dresser.
Do a load of laundry, get it folded and put where it needs to go. Feel incredibly productive.
Ignore the empty milk jug in the fridge. Scribble a few more things on the grocery list. Wonder when there will be time to go grocery shopping. Wonder what’s for supper tomorrow. Or the next day.
Push off your kid who wants to kiss you for the millionth time because your cheek feels raw. Remember you have to leave again soon and haven’t spent any time with him. Colour a picture with him and snuggle.
Fly out the door. Come home late. Supper, lunches, homework, showers. Wonder when the little one will have a bath. Decide he looks so cute it doesn’t matter.
Play a game of checkers. Sing a song. Kiss a cheek. Pour a glass of wine.
Say probably no to coming to a school choir thing. Say yes to more important matters. Feel terrible. Tell yourself some moms miss all the school choir things. Tell yourself to shut up.
Stick your head out the back door and breathe in the rain and remember why you love your life. Watch your husband tuck the kids in and make sure the basement isn’t leaking and know he’s always there and remember why you love him.
Do dishes. Write. Finish wine.
Think about the granola, the applesauce muffins, the chocolate pudding, the granola bars, the roasted veggies, the meatloaf. All the recipes in your head this week that you can’t wait to cover your kitchen with. Promise tomorrow to bake, to cook, to laugh.
Go to bed happy, tired, a little anxious, a little guilty. Tell yourself tomorrow is a new day. A tornado. Chaos. But a new day. Even if there are hot dogs for supper and mud on the floor.