My daughter has dirt under her fingernails. I haven’t showered in two days. My son spilled a green smoothie all over his gym shorts and on our new tan chair.
But they are smiling. We are singing. I am holding my baby in my arms tight against my chest. I bet she can hear my heart beating. It feels warm and cozy and like home.
I look out the window as I rock her side to side and notice the green of the leaves, the pink of the hibiscus, the squirrels running, and the red of the cardinals – a blur- flitting from branch to branch.
My daughter trying to fit her doll’s “pantyhose” on her little sister’s foot. Me, running around doing dishes and laundry and making beds before my husband gets home. I’ve never been very good at or fond of “keeping house”.
I hear from one of my closest and oldest friends over the weekend about her daughter who was just diagnosed with a chronic medical condition. This little girl, this bright little light, so brave and courageous in spite of this news. She will be fine, better than fine.
And I think to myself; the spilled smoothie, the water on the wood floor…again, the piles of papers on the counter, all of the things on my to do list that I can’t seem to get around to, none of it matters. None of this stuff really matters.
Because all we have is this moment, this one unbearable, sweet, awkward, sad, joyful, messy moment.
This is home.