I’ve been falling behind at life as of late. I am a stickler for routines, and I quite enjoyed the fact I’d get home about 20 after 5 and find Scott and C in the kitchen already starting on supper. But as Scott had to work out of an office across the city for a few weeks, that meant that I didn’t get home from picking C up until 6, and then would still have to start supper.
Have you ever tried to starting to make supper at the time a toddler is usually finishing eating it?
It wasn’t long before I discovered the easiest way to make life work was to just order food on the way home. Plus, if the pizza runs late, you can silence your mom-guilt by stuffing your kid full of veggies while you wait.
And cleaning up? Ya, that gets pushed to weekends, which happens haphazardly when those fully roll around.
One Thursday morning, I can remember looking through the kitchen before I left, and I could see the spots on the floor where the can of ginger ale exploded a few days before that I thought we’d wiped up. I could see the breakfast dishes on the table, last night’s supper dishes in the sink. Shoes from the back porch were strewn into the kitchen, and random pieces of C’s clothing hang off of kitchen chairs.
But when I came home to that same kitchen, the sun gleamed off the counters, the floors were spotless and the smell of beef stroganoff filled the air. My daughter was giggling in the living room.
For a minute, I felt like I had life together.
Ok, technically, I didn’t have it together. Scott prepped and programmed the slow cooker. And my parents, who were entertaining my child in the living room, offered to drop her off at our house to cut down on my post-work commute, and to surprise me by arriving early to clean my house.
But sometimes, you have to give yourself a break and let others step in to help you get your life back in order.