Lumps of butternut squash ground into the rug. Brown rice confetti on the floor. Half of a day-old baguette under the high chair, well-nibbled on both ends. Toys everywhere but the playpen, torn magazines strewn about in a corner, lunch dishes on the table, pots and pans in the sink. After putting le Petit down for a nap, I surveyed the debris of the morning before gathering the courage to start picking it all up. Again.
"As much as I'm glad I only work four days a week," I sighed to myself as I started attacking the dishes, "I'm glad I work four days a week."
I love Wednesday. We make a good team, le Petit and I, and from our homemade lunch à deux to our run, run, run, RUN! outings in the park, there are very many reasons my day off is special. But seven days a week, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year? I don't know if I have it in me.
I applaud you, stay-at-home moms. And if you have any hard-won secrets, please share them with me. In the meantime, my blogging break is over, and it's time to try to check another item off the naptime to-do list before it's too late.