Life’s Better In Pink

People, this tiny pink rectangle has revolutionized my life. Shall I explain?

First: A rant.

It’s Spring Break, one of the many weeks in the year when both my love and my hate for working from home reach an all new high. Working from home is hard. Because I don’t want to work. If you thought I was going to say it’s hard because the kids are distracting and they need something so many moments of the day that I can’t even go to the restroom without hearing little feet run towards the door and little hands promptly pound on it for emergencies like, “Can we go to Wal-Mart sometime and look for a magic wand?” or “Is my Mizzou shirt dry yet?” Then you would be wrong. Because if ever any children were knit and created specifically for a mother who wanted to work from home, mine are it. They’re lovely and self-entertaining and incredibly understanding, bathroom conversations aside. No, it’s just the fact that I’m home, in my Castle, wishing I was cleaning it or painting its hallway (nope, still haven’t gotten to that) or sacking up its outgrown clothing, or that I was creating of course.

So today: I grouched. I said to Michael after he got home. “You know what makes me sad? That you will never be able to say of me, ‘But she never complained.’” I pretty much hate my job every few moments in the day, which it so does not deserve. And sometimes I say crazy things like “You can only build a train track in these 6 square inches of carpet” or “Why are you drinking that glass of milk? You’re wasting it.” (Seriously happened once. To MICHAEL, my husband. So my sister Felicity one day borrowed some of my milk for a sippy cup on the way home with one of her little children and she left a note on my fridge, “Wasted some of your milk. Thanks, Felic.”)

But after a day like that when I’m pretty sure I desperately need to change everything about my day lest I go insane, and then I head from the computer to the kitchen for Part Two Of Every Single Day to cook supper, I expect, every single day, to be upset about that. But then, Enter The IPod. I’ve told you before how music saves the day, and it does. Tonight, while I cleaned the kitchen after supper, I danced. Oh yes I did.

You know what I choose to believe though? It’s not just the music. It’s that cooking supper and cleaning my house still feel like things I choose to do. I do them out of an intense infatuation for four beautiful males. When I’m grouchy I say of those tasks, while slamming things around, “You know what? This is enough. These tasks – cleaning, cooking, wiping faces, and folding laundry – that’s enough full time job for anyone and I hate that I have to do it on top of the other one.” But when I’m clear, I just say “This is enough.” It’s enough to make the rest of the day worth it – these hours that are just for home and family and the intense happiness of having it all in order. It’s enough.

(Photo by beta karel on Flickr, because I was too lazy to just take a picture of mine.)