Drained

It's been one of those weeks: nonstop movement from 6:30 until I fall into bed after 10. Today, after a day visiting a good friend on the Cape, I arrived to a mess of a house, two cats looking at me with hunger in their eyes, and so much to do for this weekend:

cook something for potluck; turn 10 lbs of tomatoes into sauce; vacuum and clean up house before hosting homeschool social; plan what to wear to meet these ladies in the flesh; pick up birthday gift & attend party; get to vet's to pick up special cat food; make it to post office before it closes at noon. . .and on and on and on. . .

And then, my little guy turned to me with tired eyes and asked for a bath. This was unusual as we had just finished eating pizza, and the kids know that this is usually followed by a Popsicle. After confirming that he did indeed want a bath before dessert, I sighed and took him upstairs, trying not to think about all the things I needed to do, that I had planned to start doing while Fairly Odd Father handled bath and bedtime.

I filled our tub and put D. into it. He asked for bubbles, and I turned on the air jets. He asked for more bubbles, so I added soap.

Watching him play in the water, I was even more aware of my own tired body, my salty and sandy skin. Despite the cries of "should do, need to do, must do" in my head, I found myself taking off my clothes and joining him in our big bubbly tub.

He was delighted.

He poured water over my head again and again. We popped bubbles and let the water wash away all the sand, salt and stress. The water was cool and bubble-less by the time we were done.

I may be older and, supposedly, wiser, but my two-year-old son sometimes has all the answers.