Laundry. Dishes. Toys. Groceries. Clothes. Toothbrushes. Matchbox cars. Heck, even lawn equipment.
I feel like all I do is pick up things.
This morning I made breakfast, which included pulling out the toaster, pulling out the milk & syrup, putting back the toaster, putting back the syrup, cleaning up after he was done. Then I wiped down the counters and put away the coffee goods used by me and my husband. While Harrison watched his morning cartoons, I picked up discarded shoes and forgotten Matchbox cars and found a sippy cup from yesterday. Tossed those and the new sippy cups I bought last night into the sink. Hauled the dirty kitchen linens upstairs and switched out the dry clothes, threw in a new load of dirty clothes. Made the beds and pulled back the curtains and wiped down the bathroom sinks.
By the time I hopped in the shower at 8am and sat down a few minutes later to start working, I was exhausted.
It’s not that we’re slobs or that the boys don’t help me…it’s just that there is always so much to do. Harrison is great at picking up his toys when I ask, but he’s not so much help at folding laundry or putting away drink glasses. My husband is helpful, but he works 9-hour days with 2 hours on the road, so I know how exhausted he is when he pulls into the driveway each night.
So much laundry, so many dishes. I’m looking around my bedroom right now and there’s a pile of laundry waiting to be folded, a pile waiting to go to Goodwill, and fresh towels to be hung in the bathroom.
Bend over, pick up, fold, put away. It’s the rhythm of motherhood, no?