But we didn't expect it to be this crazy.
There was so much work to be had that my brother moved to Houston for it and is living in our third bedroom, and another friend from Fredericksburg is currently bunking in our (albeit pretty homey) garage and occasionally his wife (my best friend from childhood) and their eighteen month old join the fray. Don't read that sentence again. It's too confusing. Just know it's been BUSY. The days are filled with snotty babies and giggles and tantrums, and the nights are full of big meals and laughter and beer and husbands cleaning the kitchen after oh-so-subtle reminders from their domesticity-weary wives.
It's wonderful and very very hard. My friend and I managed to have a few conversations over the toddler din, and when we talked, we talked about our plights as stay at home mothers tending to the endless needs of little people; we talked about how the days are generally frustrating, always exhausting, and sometimes pretty decent. We also compared our days and experiences to our husbands' who for the time being are working all day every day. There are days when Jacob arrives home late in the evening, I toss a baby in his arms and shuffle off to the kitchen (via a solo trip to the bathroom) so I can get food on the table before our toddler barrels into the over-tired freak outs.
He holds the baby with one arm and tries to close out jobs on his iPad with the other, and in frustration he says: "I know you didn't see it, but I worked really hard today."
I drag a toddler to his eighth time out of the evening and rush back to stir the onions on the stove, and in frustration I reply: "I know you didn't see it, but I worked really hard today."
And it's not fun to be that wife. I don't ever want to be that wife. But I have been before, and I certainly will be again.
As I talked about this with my dear friend, I remembered a day not too long ago - a day when the house was still in boxes and the weariness of moving still hung over every moment - when a mom-friend here in Houston texted and said she could get us into the zoo for free that morning if we wanted to come. I was lying on the bed nursing Lucy June, and I started my stock response of how we couldn't because of all that we needed to get done blah blah blah, and then I thought: Jacob would love it if we went to the zoo. Jacob would love it if he came home tonight, and I said, we didn't get a single box unpacked today, but we did see a VERY pregnant elephant. And we did it. We went to the zoo.
As I told this story to my friend, I realized something: nothing blesses my husband more than when the littles and I have a good day.
So, husband mine husband dear, I've determined to have more good days. Each morning when I think of all the things I want to get done, I will remind myself to have a good day.
And even when I haven't had a good day, I want to stop in my frantic blitz clean of the living room before you get home in the evening and remember at least one good thing about my day. That way, when you ask me how the day went and I automatically begin the montage of crazy: "Lucy June ruined three outfits before 10am and Jake threw blocks at me while I was nursing and even though I feel like I spent the whole day cleaning the kitchen, it's still a mess..." I can finish the list with that one good thing: "...BUT Jake did spend half the day in a helmet and leg warmers telling me he was pretty cool."
|Me: Jake where did you put my keys?|
Jake: Ummm...I put them somewhere.