April Moments

Maybe, just maybe, telling the story is just as important as the story itself

Allow me to dish about dishes

Some people do yoga. Some people run. Me? I wash dishes.

Even though I dread it every evening, I kind of look forward to it too. That’s why I liken it to exercise. It’s one of those things that no one really likes to do, but it has to be done. And once it’s over, I feel better.

After Cecilia was born, my parents stayed at our house for a couple days, and my husband did all of the housework for at least a week. I was in that I-just-had-a-baby-and-haven’t-slept-in-days state. I was baby blues-ing hard. One evening after dinner, Mike started picking up dishes from the table and carrying them into the kitchen.

“Please, let me do the dishes,” I begged. I needed to feel normal again.

I remember working my way through the plates, cups and silverware, feeling exhausted and weepy. I would stop and cry about who-knows-what. But I was determined to finish the job. When the mess was gone, I felt better. Like I was on my way to returning to my normal self, whatever that meant.

Occasionally, if Mike is home in the evening, he will take care of the dishes while I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed. I certainly appreciate the help, but my control freak self can’t help but see food remnants left on a plate or the disorganized way he loads the dishwasher.

So doing the dishes is my thing. After both children are asleep, I wash the dishes.

It is my time to assess the day, reflect on my feelings and get over grudges. I pack up the leftovers worth keeping, throw away what deserves to go in the trash and rinse off the lingering mess.

So it is with life.

I remember one of my favorite scriptures – one that I think all moms need to remember, especially after what we might call a “bad day:” “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

No matter what my day is like – whether I classify it as “good” or “bad” – I know that when morning comes, I get a fresh start. His compassions are new every morning. Thank you, God, for that truth.

Now, if only mornings didn’t come so early.

Originally published on ovparent.com.

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