It’s been one of those days. Low on memory-making. High on need-meeting. You feel like the whole day got eaten by a diaper.
You reheated your coffee four times in the vain hope that you might actually sit down to drink it. One kid is sick and the other is loud. You played tag with the sink for an hour responding to screams, snot and spilled milk. You dream that the kids’ naps may align, like stars, so that you can just maybe clean the kitchen… before you mess it back up making dinner. But the baby wakes up as you close your toddler’s door and falls back asleep just when you hear that persistent “Mommy, mommy.”
Then two minutes before your husband walks in, said child dumps the toy box across the hallway. Dad steps over the cars and army men on his way to kiss your tight-lipped mouth. What interesting things must have filled his day. You hang your head- does he think I’m lazy? Look at the floor, look at the kitchen, look at the cup of coffee on the table. How have you accomplished so little in eight whole hours? All you ate today is a boiled egg. You haven’t even read to your kid, let alone to yourself. Where’s the solitude? You wish you had some library books to return.
Speaking of the library, I happened upon this article from a brittle 1893 women’s magazine quite accidentally. It’s not often that I tug those potent clunkers off their high shelves. Look, aren’t the encouragements to our great-great-grandmothers encouraging? 
Also encouraging, Sara Groves and Steven Curtis Chapman reminds us that even the little things are good and important, particularly the repetitive ones.
