It’s 10:24 pm

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and I just started the dishwasher for the third time today. I could say more… like the fact that the dryer just stopped and it’s time to fold the second load of laundry for the day, I’ve swept the kitchen twice now. I have driven the car in short bursts to run here, drop someone off there, and to get this, more times than I care to count.

(I must get that Bat Mobile spray painted… and I forgot to pick up a memory card today at the store, and we are completely out of baking powder — and that’s why I went to the store in the first place.) At the grocery store, as I picked up apples, pears and Peaches! (they’re finally back!) for the boys to pack in their lunches, I fought a tinge of resentment. Does anyone appreciate how much I do for them, or precisely how much time this takes? I was successful at quieting that demon as quickly as it rose. What’s the point of that? Where will that land me?I love them too much to harbor feelings like that.

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There is nothing unusual about this day. Just what comes along in a typical day in a house full of six. And, then there is my brother… who just posted a picture of him and his wife, toasting Mai-Tai’s, with paper umbrella’s in their cups, as they are heading, as I type this, to Hawaii. I simply focus on that beautiful image, of their beaming faces, and say to myself, “This too shall pass,” as I mop the kitchen floor, one last time before heading off to bed.

Still, there is quite a sense of satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that the dishwasher is washing the dishes as I sleep. The machines dealt, quite efficiently, with the grime and dirt, and removed spots I’d rather not touch, let alone, examine. The car purrs down the road, and keeps my feet dry, and my body warm. And I will wake up to shinny floors tomorrow morning.

And that, too, shall pass…

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