I'm going to take a hot shower just after I'm done here.
Steve has been away. He comes home soon and for that, I am glad, because I miss him. But my Mom has been in town. Like some sort of modern day Florence Nightingale (loose parallel here), she's come to help me keep house and home in my husband's stead. Having her in my home is such a treat. She's one of my favorite people and, I'm not just bragging when I say this, I'm one of hers. I realize that this is not entirely usual for a mother and daughter and that I should be really grateful for this sort of reciprocal relationship. And I am. I like to treat her when she's here. It seems that a mother who raised me well should be treated when she visits my home. No question, she's done a lot for me. It's the least we can do for our parents, right? I like doing it.
I made the tortilla soup one night. And sweet potato burritos tonight. And oatmeal pancakes this morning. But, it's easy because while I'm measuring and mixing and stirring and flipping, she's reading books to Parker or playing on the ground with him and poking her head in to talk to me every few minutes. When I go up to put him to sleep, the kitchen is always tidier than when I left. There's no fuss about it, she just does it. She's treating me too. I think she must remember those days of mothering keenly. Not everyone does. But as she empties the dishwasher for you or folds the laundry, no questions asked, I can only assume she remembers them well. We enjoy a glass of red wine or some pumpkin beer in the evening. And then, before bed, a mug of chamomile tea.
I'm blessed to have her.
Thanks for coming, Mom.