This morning at 7:10, I dressed all three children and myself in our outdoor apparel so we could all go out together to wait for the bus. (It was a balmy 18 degrees above zero this morning. Tropical!)
At 7:20 a.m., the bus arrived, Cubby led Charlie onto it holding hands, and the bus driver got off to tell me that because Charlie is only four, the bus driver will buckle him in with a seat belt and he'll have a permanent seat with Cubby every day. Then the bus driver got back on the bus, buckled Charlie in, and drove away with two of my three boys.
That was the bitter part.
And then Jack insisted on taking a walk, because hey! We're outside! In the semi-dark! HOW FUN!
Jack also insisted on getting up at 4:58 this morning, so at 8:30 a.m. I declared both him and me done and put him down for a nap.
And then . . .
This is the sweet part.
Some of you may recall the great joy I experience from a solitary, quiet meal with a book. So when I was standing there in a quiet house trying to figure out what I should do next, and I remembered that I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, I made myself a real breakfast. An egg, leftover mashed potatoes with cheese, and greens*. Then I sat down with my book (that's a really good book, by the way, if you're looking for a non-dry but fact-filled non-fiction book) and read and ate.
I'm so tired today that I feel a little ill, but I have a hot cup of tea next to me and probably 45 more minutes of quiet before Jack wakes up.
Bitter and sweet. The essence of motherhood.
* Incidentally, those greens are actually lettuce. The reason that I cooked lettuce for the first time was that our refrigerator inexplicably went crazy yesterday and more or less froze the entire contents of the refrigerator, including an entire head of green leaf lettuce. I was reluctant to throw the whole thing out, so I chopped it up and cooked it with olive oil and garlic. It's good. Indistinguishable from bok choy, pretty much. Something to keep in mind the next time I have excess lettuce from the garden and get sick of salads.