Monday, September 1, 2008


Written last spring and not posted till now.


It's 4:55 pm, the last load of laundry's in the dryer, the oven's preheating for a pork roast, Nolan's sleeping, and I'm emptying the dishwasher. Brian's out of town till 6 pm, so I've arranged for Aidan's T-ball coach to take him to practice. He's sitting on the front porch swing waiting. Sean sits coloring at the table near me.

I'm feeling productive, happy that this isn't one of those evenings when I'm wondering what to make for dinner at 5 pm. Feeling a little cocky, a little like, "Hey, look at me, juggling ten balls in the air at the same time."

A few minutes after five, I learn the coach has forgotten to pick up Aidan. So I wake the baby, search unsuccessfully for Sean's shoes, buckle everyone into the minivan, and we race to the ballpark with Nolan screaming.

We return home. Nolan's cry is finally answered and he nurses away. I sit on the couch and realize Brian will be home soon. The dishwasher is still open and only half-empty. Clothes sit wrinkling in my dryer. A well-heated oven sits empty. Sean is begging for an apple. I laugh thinking of my friend Amy who says she was able to nurse and empty a dishwasher at the same time. I'm not there yet, and won't be able to move from this spot for at least 20 minutes.

All the balls now lie at my feet, despite all the effort it took to get them in the air.

But it is all right. I look at this baby's face and I know I am right where I need to be, doing exactly what I was meant to do.

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