While We Wait

When you are on the cusp of a life change so wonderful but so irrevocable, you desperately cling to the familiar and the routine, truly taking pleasure in the daily rhythms which have finally cemented themselves but are about to be rocked topsy turvy. You continue to plan and make meals, smile at pictures drawn of dinosaurs, read Good Night Moon for the hundredth time, and wash clothes, all the while grabbing scraps of paper from drawers jammed full of miscellaneous trinkets and scrawling notes like "fill malaria meds prescription" and "buy two-prong convertor" with a Sharpie. You are still aware and slightly annoyed that your painted kitchen cabinets - which are chipping and stained from coffee spills courtesy of one toddler boy who is quick and sneaky and says, "Yummy coffee, mommy" when he is caught with your lipstick stained cup in hand - will more than likely not be repainted in two weeks time. You are astonished, but not really, that every floor in your home is filthy and doubt that you will apply the necessary efforts to deep clean them before your departure (after all, you have blogs to post.) You cannot comprehend why after two days of lying in your living room, no one, especially you, has bothered to move the Elmo potty seat to a less conspicuous location like the bathroom.

You are, however, more prone to crawl into your little ones' new big boy beds at night. You pull them close into your body and are happy waking up to tiny fingers jabbing your eyes and stinky morning breath filling your nostrils. You are more willing to don a bathing suit and join your children playing outside on a muggy, blazing hot day. You tell yourself that what you are wearing is modest in comparison to what some women designate as daily attire but still feel a bit uncomfortable that the coverage is not that provided by a burka. You encourage yourself that the laundry hanging on your line will shield you from neighbors out in their backyards and that a bathroom towel lying at your feet will render you acceptable if an unsuspected guest should arrive. You acquiesce to your five-year-old son's splashing and throwing of murky water from his plastic pool onto you, delighting in his shrill screams of unrestrained joy at seeing his mother wet in the 90-plus degree heat. You will even pull up your hair into a pony tail high up on your head for this water play so that you will resemble a peacock spreading his feathers though not be nearly as beautiful. You allow your twin boys to run around the yard naked under the guise of potty training and give one an M & M when he does potty in the yard. You decide that it is the perfect time to scrub down the crusty remains of "who knows what" from what will soon be your daughter's high chair and giggle when your boys wash you rather than the chair with sudsy, Ivory soap water. You smile when from upstairs you hear your eldest son singing, "Ain't It Be Great To Be Crazy," from "The Vegetarians" (that would be Veggie Tales) CD your neighbor gifted him. You marvel at the beauty of the peonies blooming in all their glory in your back yard and are awestruck when you look out your window and see two ducks strolling down the sidewalk. You are especially thankful that your husband arrives home at 5:00 rather than 10:00 as you anticipated. You consider eating a Whitey's malt while watching the series finale of Lost.

You are grateful for the days you have left together as a family of five and marvel that you will soon be a family of six.

Thomas

Russell

Elliot

The Chair

PS Sorry the pictures are so blurry. Didn't have the focus on. Amateur.