A Day in the Life
This post was originally going to start with this idyllic little intro — how my crazy day turned into a gem after my sister-in-law and husband conspired to give me some much needed alone-time after battling long days with a toddler on top of feeling sickly and pathetic. (It still has been a great day, all things considered, but the carefree post I was crafting in my head has needed a revision.)
In an incredible moment of kindness and generosity, Attie took Elliott for a few hours today. And while she chased him around the park and fixed him dinner, Matthew was at home vigorously cleaning our neglected house. And I got to sit in the jet tub at my mother-in-law’s house (she is still in Africa until Saturday) with Into Thin Air and a plate of catered-in pizza.
When Elliott and I left the house, I was feeling better than I had in days — energized, rested, clean, and super excited about the 50 pages left on Krakauer.
Then as I pulled into the driveway, I looked back to see Elliott’s face screwed in distress. I turned off the car, picked him up, and immediately heard what sounded like water-balloons popping against my tank-top and felt an oozy warmth travel down my neck, chest, stomach, and toes. Yes, yes — not for the queasy — but my darling son had single-handedly upset the balance of my day by emptying the contents of his body all over me. His face looked shocked and I stifled every cell in my own body from following him into the puke-fest.
For the second time in a three hour period, I climbed into a tub. The first time was for pure relaxation purposes — and it was big, with jet bubbles, and dancing sunlight. I could have cried from the sheer awesomeness of it. The second time was out of necessity — and I shared it with a crying toddler, bobbing bath toys, and several washcloths tossed lazily to the floor after they served their purpose of wiping away all remnants of our unfortunate predicament. And I could have cried for the sheer predictability of it all.
You see, for every picturesque moment you get as a mom or dad, it seems like there is vomit waiting at the end of it.
Before the throwing-up incident, we had another issue today, and it was caused by my own selfishness. I’m totally into Into Thin Air and this morning I collapsed on the couch, curled up with the book, and my favorite blanket. Elliott was content for a few minutes to sit at my feet and play with his fire-truck; but after a little bit, he sprinted off to the living room. Sick and not wanting to move, I let Elliott play unsupervised for about ten minutes. It wasn’t until I heard the tell-tale sounds of the Harvard Classics hitting the ground, that I roused myself to check on him. The picture below is the result of such a minimal amount of time left to his own devices. Impressive, really.
Anyway, if that doesn’t propel my husband to sainthood (volunteering to take care of this disaster before I got home from my bath-time? And I didn’t take pictures of the kitchen), I don’t know what can.
I’ll finish the book tonight and write about it tomorrow. Hopefully, tomorrow won’t involve as much vomit or…no, he’ll probably empty all the shelves again…so, I’ll just settle for less vomit.