kiwords

This morning I sat at the table, hands cupped around my tea, gazing out the window with eyes full of sorrow.

It was snowing, you see.

April 24, and we’ve got snow.

All day long it snowed and rained, rained and snowed. The wind blew, goose bumps took up permanent residence on my arms and legs, and there was much muttering about “APRIL 24, YOU KNOW. NOT JANUARY.”

The inappropriate display of cold left me slightly more irritable than usual. Although I like to think I maintained a reasonable façade of peace and joy, little things grated upon me more than usual. I had no phone or internet or cable for most of the day, and that didn’t help me find inner peace either.

Midmorning I was downstairs, shoving some laundry in the washer, when I heard a shriek for my attention from upstairs. I punched the dial on the machine so the water would stop filling and I could hear. It was Max.

“Moooom, can you make Tre turn off the music?”

“We talked about this already, Max. Right now he gets to listen to music. It’ll be quiet in about 25 minutes, ok?”

He responded with a low level of stream-of-consciousness complaint, and I yanked the dial to restart the water and drown out the sound of it. I was fitting one last t-shirt into the drum when there was another call for justice from upstairs. I dropped the lid with a bang and stomped over to the stairs to bellow up,

“What. Is. The. Problem?”

Raphael scurried over to the top of the stairs. He gave me a dose of wounded innocent face, and started explaining that ALL he was doing was showing Tre something in a magazine, and Tre didn’t have to be all MEAN and ignore him, because that’s RUDE, so he HAD to get his attention!

“He HIT me on the head with the magazine,” Tre translated, glowering at his brother and rubbing the top of his head. I ordered Raphael to his room and Tre back to his desk and returned to the laundry room to deal with the dryer.

Someday, I mused, I will be able to put a whole load in the washer, uninterrupted.

Someday I won’t be spending one out of every three waking minutes DOING laundry.

Someday I’ll be able to make myself a cup of tea without being spotted and inundated with requests for some chai tea or cocoa.

Someday I’ll read the whole newspaper without having to stop and listen to another joke about elephants.

Someday I’ll never have to stand at the bathroom sink, wondering where my toothbrush is and why there’s a Rescue Hero in its place.

Someday I’ll be able to stop buying granola bars. And goldfish crackers.

Someday my house will be free of all the books and papers and art supplies and random pairs of scissors that are needed when you homeschool.

Someday the door jambs will be free of the grubby remains of doorway climbing.

Someday I’ll get to listen to what I want to listen to in the car.

Someday I’ll get to sit around and talk to Clay without ever once saying, “Please don’t interrupt us.”

I made my way slowly up the stairs, picturing the house in that mystical someday. It was tidy and quiet – serene.

Someday.

I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs to see Max lying on the floor, drawing on the bottom of his desk. Tre had slipped away from his work and was leaning against the couch, reading the magazine he’d been smacked with. From downstairs, Raphael hollered a request for amnesty.

Someday.

And yet, I’m glad it’s not someday…just yet.