Getting towed

Over the past few weeks I’ve stopped picking up things off the floor. If it falls, it is dead to me.

I scoot things to the side with my feet and have my five year old pick up here and there. Scott sometimes picks up the floor after work but with late evenings it usually gets pushed to the weekend.

Priorities have shifted to keeping the kids fed, alive and mostly clothed; with Scott working early and late so he can have time off with the new little guy, it’s pretty much just survival.

No grocery shopping, no adventuring, just bare bones existing.

With all of that, the toy and crumb eddies at the stairs and in corners, the laundry creeping out into the hall and the various projects I start and don’t finish, it can feel daunting. How will I manage with one more? How can I get my back and hips to hold an adjustment for longer than 4 days? Will visitors bring casseroles this time? Will my sinuses and lungs be clear enough to breathe this baby out when the time comes???

All of it swirls and clouds the days as they lump together and my sighs last longer and I watch the calendar march on.


Yesterday as I walked out of the playroom and to the kitchen I saw this. It pissed me off at first. One more thing I wouldn’t be picking up. One more piece of proof that my kids don’t listen. Keep the toys in the play room I say…no toys out of the playroom!

But look at it. Look at the attention to detail. Some tiny human found both of these cars and thought to do this and set it right where I’d see it. Right at the moment I needed a reality check.

It’s perfect. The crumbs and pieces of garbage and the toys. This little scene.

This tow truck is my family, my life, the adventure I could be seeing if I wasn’t the car being towed.

Today I choose the mess, I choose the crumbs and all the stuff that likely won’t get done. I choose the now and it doesn’t matter that it’s a huge mess. It’ll work itself out.

I hope.