And It's Only Monday

Next week is midterm week and so this week is crazy busy. There are tests to give, exams to write, review sheets to organize and all the madness that is my daily life. I have a cold that wants to be a sinus infection and today's meeting after school ran a little longer than I expected.

So now I'm leaving work late and I'm juggling: is there time to make chicken noodle soup and biscuits for supper and get in my workout? I decide not and we hit Subway on the way home. JT eats his cookie before supper (some rules are made to be broken) and in those moments in the car, I realize everything else that needs to get done: I need to pick up the quilts from the wishy-washy and I should drop my sweater by the dry cleaner. Wishy-washy yes, dry cleaner no. I pull into the driveway in the dark and remember that today was trash and recycling day – lots of bins to be put away. I remember because that's my trash bin the wind has blown into the middle of the street.

JT is dispatched to fetch the trash bin and I carry our things inside. We eat supper and then I sit with JT while he does his homework. I take a call from my friend S and we try to figure out why the traffic is so bad. JT has brought home a new joke book and he can't wait to read it to me. A JT excited to read is not to be ignored, so I hold off on the workout and we laugh at the silly jokes. I run outside to haul in the rest of the recycling bins and take a moment to feed the kittens.

I persuade JT to let me work out in exchange for espresso chip ice cream. I start a load of laundry while I stretch. The eliptical trainer works its magic and for a few minutes my mind is blissfully empty. But the ipod lets me down: not enough songs without memories attached. 40 minutes later I load the dishwasher while the kettle makes water for a steaming pot of tea and JT reads me a few more jokes. Lunch bags are unpacked and made ready for the morning. I set up the coffee pot to magically deliver the dark elixir at 6:10 tomorrow morning.

We head upstairs for bath and bed time. While JT showers, I stretch some more and read a few pages of Mansfield Park. I check the weather and JT and I decide that it will be cool enough for corduroy pants tomorrow. Teeth are brushed and freshly washed hair is combed. Finally, my clean boy climbs into his warm flannel nest for a few pages of a story and a last cuddle. The kittens join us, soft and warm and purring with contentment between us.

And I realize that yes, it's hard and yes, I miss having another mommy in our house. I miss sharing all the small intimate moments that made up our family life. And damn it, I'd like some help with the chores. But I have a boy by my side every day. I can hear his soft steady breath as I lie in my bed at night. And though it sometimes feels as if I am scrambling all the time, he is happy and well-loved. And even those old silly jokes about why a chicken crossed the road are funny when read to you for the first time by your 6 year old son.

So I decide to quit worrying about what needs to get done and instead concentrate on what is getting done: I'm raising this boy with the help and support of my endlessly patient friends and family both here and far away. And I'm not alone. And I can do this.

I am doing this.