We were all hungry when Andy got home, so I whipped up some french toast, and we ate right away. Thus it was that we were done with supper at 4:30, leaving the evening wide open.

Nathan pounced on Andy, book in hand, and demanded a story. As they snuggled up together in the glider, Andy proposed that after the story, he would slip off to Starbucks for a bit of solitude. Then he’d come back and give me a chance to get out of the house.
I thought that sounded like a good idea. Maybe he could read TWO stories, though? That way I’d be able to get in a quick shower.

I’d actually bathed earlier in the day. Sort of. Mostly. Except Tembo started screaming, and I hopped out to console her, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. As I nursed her back into her nap, the boys pulled down the full length mirror and started jumping on it. The four-foot strip of glass rippled ominously beneath their weight. I quickly set the baby down (completely waking her up again) and whisked the mirror back into our bedroom.

I was amazed and relieved that the mirror had not broken. Broken mirrors are an ill omen indeed with toddlers about. Nothing is ever quite so fascinating (or yummy, for that matter) as broken glass. I was ever so glad that we were going to make it through this fiasco without injury.

The wuggy-boys, on the other hand, were horrified and indignant that I was taking away their wonderful toy. And you have to admit, it must be a pretty amazing experience to jump on a mirror, with no floor that you can see, and an image of yourself jumping upside-down beneath you.... But take it away, I did, and Nathan ran behind me, screaming his protest.

I tucked the mirror just inside the bedroom, and quickly shut the door. Nathan just stood there and wailed.

His finger was stuck in the hinge side of the door.

A little neosporin and a lot of kisses... tickles for distraction... a bandaid and a thousand hugs and two Tylenol Meltaways... Several rouns of altoids, because it’s not fair that Isaiah can’t have the yummy Tylenol... and several more rounds of Altoids, as I quickly gathered up the spilled tin...

Nathan was okay.


But my hair was still very much in need of a wash. I was glad of the chance to hop back in the shower while Andy read to the boys.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, clean and fresh, they were done reading and had moved on to another fun activity.

We quickly passed off the reins, so to speak. Andy kissed me, then gleefully hopped into the car, eager for his hour of Euclid, and I settled into the chair on the porch steps to supervise the mud-pie project.

As the little green Tercel turned around the corner, out of sight, the irony began to dawn on me.

Cleanliness may well be next to godliness, but I’m afraid it’s far away from motherhood.

1 comment:

Matthew said...

If cleanliness is next to godliness, why did God create a messy world? I mean, even before the Fall, I'm assuming the 93.5% of the world was dirt.

I think cleanliness is much further from godliness than we tend to think.