Today was hard.
The plumbers never came to fix the running toilets, my paycheck was a week late and bills are days overdue. I had more projects on my hands than I could manage, too many emails to answer. I spent most of the morning crying, feeling like I was drowning, or maybe wishing I could.
By lunchtime I’d pulled myself up by the bootstraps and was plugging along the best I knew how. Slow and steady, slow and steady, chipping away at the list.
My favorite part of the day, every day, is getting Landon from school. No matter how my day was, or how his day was, our reunion is always the same. When he sees me from across the playground, his face breaks into a wide open smile and he yells “Mommyyyyyyyy!” as he sprints toward me, arms spread wide to hold me. His dirty, sweaty head digs into my thighs and we squeeze each other. It fills me with the brightest sunshine, every single time.
Today we got home and brushed the sand from his toes, went inside and greeted Howard, whose tail beat rhythmically against the tiny chairs that surround Landon’s little table. After about three minutes in the door, Landon releases a puddle right in the middle of the living room rug (the only rug in the house that hasn’t been peed on at this point). I disconnect the call with my sister, exasperated that we are doing this YET AGAIN. He’s been having accidents after school all week, and I’m so frustrated.
I quickly strip him down and carry him at arms length to the empty bathtub. “Stand there for a second until Mommy gets back.” I grab an old towel out of the laundry room on my way back to the pee puddle and cover it, to sop up the brunt of the mess. As I return to the bathroom to run Landon’s early bath, I’m greeted by a new surprise.
“I pooped.”
He is looking up at me with wide eyes, uncertain of what’s coming next. I close my eyes, and I want to scream at the top of my lungs. What else could today possibly throw at me?
Then, I surprise myself by letting out a soft chuckle. I lift him out of the tub, again at arms length, and perch him on the toilet, which has almost no water in it, as the plumber never came.
I scoop, bag and wipe. Dump a splash of bleach in the tub, plug the drain and turn on the water. When he finishes his business, we move bathtime to the master bath. It’s more roomy anyhow, and Landon loves how he can “swim” in the deep tub. A quick scrub and rinse, a few giggles and we’re out.
Suddenly I remember the running water in the guest bath, and run in a panic, leaving my naked toddler dancing with a towel in his room. Too late. The tub has spilled over, and the water is gushing into the hallway like a corridor on the sinking Titanic. I throw every towel we own at the problem, and return to Landon’s dimly lit room.
After coaxing his busy body into a nightshirt and undies, I exhale heavily, sitting on my knees and mentally exhausted from the day’s assault. I haven’t even started dinner yet.
Then, behind closed eyes, I feel two tiny, chubby hands grab me just below the ears. I lift my head and open my eyes as Landon smiles wide. He plants no less than ten soggy kisses all over my face. “Silly mom!” He says as he finishes and jumps back.
I smile and let out a laugh, choking back the tears that are so hot in my tired eyes. This is what it’s all about.
Perspective.
Who cares about a turd in the bathtub, or some water on the bathroom floor? At the end of the day, we might be tired, dirty, sad and at our wits end. But we are together. When the hard day comes to a close, I am snuggling my sweet baby, warm in his bed, when so many others out there are not.
The way Landon laughs in the face of the things that make me want to cry… it reminds me that I am taking it all for granted. It’s not that bad. Yes, it runs me down and makes me feel like I can’t do it for another second. Sometimes these days make me feel like I am failing as a mother, as a wife, as a friend.
But then I look into his beautiful face, or smile as I wipe his chubby little bottom, and I’m reminded that I am among the luckiest people in the world.
I have a perfect, earthside angel who calls me Mommy. I have tiny hands to hold, a soft-haired head to kiss as he drifts off to sleep. And I remember to breathe it all in. This joy, this happiness that fills me fuller than that damn bathtub… it could all be gone tomorrow.
So I kiss my baby back, “Silly Landon!”, I squeeze him tight, and I go mop up the floor as he dumps blocks all over the hallway. And I’m happier than I’ve ever been to have a mess to clean.
