Living through the imperfections
Every Saturday, I face an avalanche of chores and laundry. Most people like their weekends - I just try to survive mine. It's worse now that we're in the midst of soccer season. Dear Husband not only coaches a local team, he's the president of the local soccer association, so once soccer season hits (twice a year!), I'm nearly a single parent.
I have a 16 year old son who is a functional mute, like most boys his age. He finds his tongue when money needs (in his opinion) to change hands. Dark-Haired Daughter tries her best, but with her disabilities, I often end up doing more work.
Yesterday, I was feeling ill - found out I have an eye infection. That functionally mute son of mine brought me lunch, asked if I needed anything else, and tucked me into bed.
My daughter, who often must be told to tone down her makeup or take off a piece or two of jewelry or clothing, never fails to hug me hello or goodbye, to say she loves me, or to tell me how pretty I look. I often find notes tucked into a book I'm reading from her, saying she loves me.
I would love to walk into a clean house every day, and have it immaculately appointed. I really, really would. But I'm trading the other stuff. Even if it is really messy.
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