It's the morning before and all through the house,
There is laundry hanging off every available radiator,
A mountain range of dishes in the sink,
Hyper children fighting over the TV,
Frenzied dogs wrecking what's left of the garden,
A grumpy plump mother growing rounder and rounder with each Christmas cookie,
And a father who dreams of a long night's sleep, undisturbed and peaceful.
Hubster pointed out to me last night as I sat whimpering and crying over a story on the news about dog sledding in the Alps, that I traded all that for all this.
"You chose children," he said.
I swallowed hard and cried inside to myself, 'why do they have to be mutually exclusive?!?'
The only answer I'm coming up with is opposable thumbs. If only Anouk could do some dishes, Typhon hang out the underwear rather than eating it, and Abaka jump and spin only on the terrace...Wake up, Dig. Smell the decaf. Remember what you know to be true: life is chaos. Fun, fabulous, unexpected chaos.
Sure, a jaunt through the mountains with a swiftly moving dog team is exhilarating, but it's got nothing on a Christmas morning surrounded by children who still believe.
Now go wrap those gifts hidden around the house and get ready for one of the most insane 24 hours on the planet. The magic is coming and it doesn't care how clean the house is.