And part of it is my sudden-onset sheer exhaustion at the thought of determining what motivates me enough to leave the dishes and the laundry and the online quest for the perfect Whip It Up in Five Minutes Large Family Recipe: Cheap, Easy, Whole-Food, Local Ingredients that Satisfy Even the Gaggiest.
But then I look back over previous posts of this blog of mine, and I remember why I do this: so in a week, or a year, or ten years or even maybe twenty, we can look back and say, "Oh, yes. THAT'S the way it was."
And that's it.
And right now, this week, this is how it is. The kids are attending their very first Vacation Bible School at church from 9-12. So I set my alarm for 7:00 but usually get up at 6ish and then turn off the alarm so it won't wake Ada or Ethan. Then I take my shower, sneak downstairs and throw a load of laundry in and put breakfast in the oven. By this time, several children have joined me and we conquer chores and get everyone dressed. Switch laundry, feed kids, nurse Ada, fold laundry, drink a coffee, take kids to VBS, come home, and be worthless until noon when the kids need to be picked up. I sit in a daze, wondering how on earth normal people get up so stinkin' early every single day.
I've determined it's just not healthy or good for you.
And people who say otherwise are delusional and need more sleep.
The kids come home from VBS, excited to show us their crafts and practice their songs and act out what happened during recreation time. I sit, enjoying their animated talk and marveling at the fact that I could possibly have children old enough to be in VBS (and one who will be too old next year!).
Time marches on.
And then there's Quiet Time, and swimming, and What'll We Do about Dinner, and who in here thinks crumpled and soaking on the floor is the fait accompli response to "Don't forget to hang your swimsuits and towels out to dry!!"? Or, to be more precise, which six of you think that?
And then, soon enough, it's bedtime. For years bedtime was my favorite time of day. Not my bedtime, mind you, but the children's. A successful "Lights Out!" followed by a sweet red wine (for Us, not Them) was about as perfect as it could get.
The sense of togetherness in all of this is just...indescribable.
I wish I could describe, define, explain it. It's one of the best parts of being married to your best friend. And daily I get an intense reminder that he is my best friend. Partly, for sure, some if it is our growing older and losing the self-consciousness that robs and destroys in this selfless endeavor called marriage.
And part of it is that we have been at this for almost twelve years. If you can't laugh over each other's foibles now, there is a problem.
We keep foibling and laughing and foibling and laughing.
And there's something about getting outside of the house -- even if it is just the front porch -- that lends a fresh perspective. The laundry, at least, can't find me there.
And then we come in and scurryfunge and inevitably plop on the couch for some mindless TV that will have us cracking up.
And then I start the dishwasher, and he takes out the dog, and we brush our teeth and wake the three children who need a nightly visit to the toilet.
And, oddly enough, this ushers in my second-favorite time of the day. Watching the children try to wake and walk themselves to the right room (the bathroom) with a modicum of dignity, all while they can barely (and sometimes not even) open their eyes is absolutely hysterical. We enjoy it so much we wait for each other so that we can wake them together.
Is that cruel?
And I realize, even as I write this, how truly geriatric and fuddy-duddy it all sounds.
And I'm OK with that.
And I will try to update, should the weather change or body parts start aching.
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