5 PM. Upon disembarking from our vehicle, the two-year-old insisted on climbing up the treacherous steps leading to the homestead armed with one blankie, one stuffed puppy, a water bottle, and one of her sister’s rubber boots. Nervous that this might lead to injury, I was momentarily distracted from the six-year-old, who then announced that carrying the plastic grocery bag containing an assortment of frozen vegetable mixes might lead to her death, so overwhelmed was she by the weight of her burden and so weak was she with hunger. When I suggested she open a bag and eat some of the bounty contained therein, thus nourishing her body and lightening her load, she managed to overcome her former obstacles and bring the bag as far as the front door.
5:15 PM Arriving in the kitchen, I discovered to my dismay that the crockpot meal I had intended to assemble this morning had certainly not been assembled. Thinking quickly, I attempted to hurry my progeny into the bathtub, a long-abused tactic which serves as a distraction and hunger delay whilst promoting hygiene. In her excitement, the six-year-old grabbed a birthday party made bath “bomb,” half of which exploded in millions of red and yellow dyed Epson salt pieces at the foot of the stairs. Not to be deterred, I left the mess, put the small humans in the tub, and quickly assembled my would-be crockpot meal into a now pressure cooker meal. I pressed play on the kitchen robot, and it proceeded to make me dinner while I went to attack the salty granules now embedded in between the planks of my 1908 wooden floorboards.
5:48 PM My venture was interrupted by a large splash and my eldest daughter crying out that my youngest daughter was “being a monstrous villain.” I rushed upstairs to find copious amounts of orange water outside the bathtub, and about half a load of (previously) clean clothes IN the bathtub.
7:12 PM The man of my dreams comes home, quickly assess the situation, eats his soup in negative time, and begins bedtime routines.
7: 18 PM My grandmother calls to ask me what I have been doing, a question that always confuses me since she was once a wrangler of miniature humans, so surely she must know.
7:40 PM My children safe with their father, I took a walk down towards the river and passed by a frat house where a friendly young man asked me if I would like to join them for a burger and a beer. Taken aback by this question since I am wearing mom jeans, a shirt encrusted with someone else’s dinner, and hair that clearly reveals that I haven’t showered in three days, it takes me some time to answer.
In my head, I answered, “I’m 31 years old, married, with two children. I have a natural distaste for chaos, loud noises, and general stupidity, which has always made me an unlikely candidate for much of what goes on in this space, and an interesting candidate for motherhood when considering the proportional similarities to the activities of my own home only this evening. Yet God seems to find it amusing to use these things toward my sanctification.”
Since it didn’t appear to be the ideal context to discuss varied means of sanctification, I just laughed and said, “thanks! But I gotta keep walking.”
So I kept walking.
9:38 PM I wrote this down for you. I hope it gave you a good laugh and helped you keep walking.
This post was written by Nicki