The kiddos are downstairs in their new playroom happily going about their childhood, not (yet) fighting or crying or needing me for one of a million possible reasons. I stand at the sink dreamily washing the dishes because the dear hard-working hubby has not yet had a chance to install the dishwasher. The warm water and suds swirl around my hands, turning them pruney, as I listen to Christmas music and feel quite productive. After all, it’s only 9:30am and I’ve showered, dressed, made and served breakfast, washed the dishes (almost), and remembered to do vitamin D and CLO all around. Others may laugh at my version of productivity, but to me this day is unfolding with joy and an everydayness that is the very reason for why I consider my life to be untradeable and inimitable.
There is no other place I’d rather be.
I am not an oppressed woman, bound to the kitchen and the badly-needing-swept-floors. To the wiping of snotty noses and diapered bums. I am not a victim of a system of anti-feminists and narrow-minded patriarchs. It may not be glamorous in the traditional sense of the word but please, know this: I am a strong woman with a mind of her own (oh mercy, many can attest to this fact!), and I willingly and gladly and knowingly chose this life. This exact life.
Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, with a contentedness that you could not buy for all the money in the entire world.
That is perhaps the real reason for this sense of productivity: the peace in my heart and the joy that bubbles in my toes, tapping to the Christmas music, as I scrub the pot of burnt chili from last night’s dinner. There are dinner fiascos, cranky children (and parents), distance between spouses, pregnancy fatigue, losing tempers and yelling, apologies, and always, always a return to each other’s arms, eventually. This is one family that will not be taken down, that will not be allowing a crack for the enemy to enter. This is real life and it is too damn valuable to be anything less than amazing. And so we press on. Burnt dinner, arguments, and toes touching in bed as we fall asleep, and we breathe deep in the beauty of the mundane stuff that is our life.
Woven in throughout the stuff of life is the joy and peace of knowing that this is it. This is the life I asked for, and I wouldn’t trade it. For this moment, I am focused on the things that matter, and when you catch that glimpse of joy it is deep and soul-burning. My breath catches in my throat, and I know.
I just know.
This is love.