You do know Frances, right? I love Frances. Sometimes I feel a little like Frances, and not just when I thoughtlessly pop treats intended for other people right into my own mouth.
I think maybe peanut brittle, but I don’t know how it got there.
No, lately it has been a different sentiment of Frances’ that strikes a chord with me.
I look around and grimace.
“Things are not very good around here anymore.”
The stockings are not hung (and probably won’t be at this point). Besides the tree, this is the extent of my Christmas decorating:
That would be a Lego nativity and the advent calendar that never was hung (but at least it was made in advance). At least that shelf has something on it, though.
I forgot about advent candles, so our Christmas candle is last year’s and already burned a bit.
Let’s just ignore the floor and dust and dirty windows for now, not to mention the toilet bowls.
No, what about running out of oatmeal the day after the grocery run and having multiple haphazard breakfasts? Forget about raisins, Frances, we’re out of oatmeal.
As always, it is when a new baby joins the family and tethers you to a chair that the toddler goes through a fussy, stubborn stage. Life has changed. Who knows, maybe that whole obedience thing is under negotiation. He has to check.
Sure, there’s laundry. There’s always laundry. But a very [very] limited number of items that fit me, plus a spitty newborn, equals my wearing laundry pretty much all the time. No clothes to wear, indeed. At least Frances had a yellow dress to wear while her blue one was in the wash.
Yes, I look around and think, “Things are not very good around here anymore.”
Until I look down.
Until I look around with a different frame of mind.
Do I see the pajamas and unbrushed hair or do I see them playing together so well and enjoying one another?
Do I see the sweet face or the spit-up crusted carseat cover I dread taking off to wash?