Yesterday, I didn’t take any pictures.
Those days seem especially poignant to me,
because I know how soon they will fade
into the general buzzing of the next day, and the next, and the next.
Another grain of sand in the lopsided sandcastle of my life.
Like this post, yesterday remains untitled. (see? poignant!)
Soon enough, I will forget the warmth of my 2:30 nap bed for two- just me and my baby.
Soon, there were three.
Finally, briefly and crampedly, five until we all spilled back out in to the house so I could face the lunch dishes I abandoned. (macaroni)
I will forget the desperate, bursting, gasping feeling that sets in around 5:00, when I turn to Brian and say
“I need your help! I can’t do any more!”,
the pressure inside made worse by the knowing that he has to go, that he isn’t mine yet.
The click of the front door behind him.
Then, the relief that comes from belatedly (always belatedly) asking for strength from the One who can help.
The One who is always there and mine.
I am refreshed. I can push through.
I won’t remember the sound of the great, epic, flood-of-Noah-type rain that pounded our roof at 6:20.
Calling the children to “Come! Look!”
Isaac complying, laughing,
Joseph barely looking up from his book. (“Lego: Stop That Heist!”)
I watch it with amusement, knowing that it is currently soaking my poor tired husband
(trudging home to his needy wife).
Then, there he is, and I open the door, ready to offer my sympathies.
Only to find that yes, he is soaked, but he is also smiling.
And he finds me smiling too.
His shirt sticks to him, water streams from his hat, his brown eyes are twinkling and man alive!-he looks just like high school and it takes me back with a rush.
Those days of dreaming of this life with this man.
He grabs our big boys and dashes with them through the pouring rain (shrieking, barefoot, muddy).
Something the cleaner-of-messes wouldn’t have thought of doing.
And I’m holding the baby in the doorway, watching them laugh, wishing for my camera, but forcing myself to stay.
To just look.
I watch my dripping husband laughing with our children and I think, suddenly;
oh! This is just how I knew he would be!
This is just how I knew we would be.
The dream often lost in the drudgery.
Not bad for a day with no pictures.