I’ll never get all the laundry done

I’ll never get all the laundry done.
And there will always be more dishes.
As soon as I have one load started, she’s dripped ice cream onto her shirt, proudly displaying a bowl, spoon, face, and outfit that all need to be cleaned.
Nothing will ever, all-the-way, be cleaned.
She’ll always be sleeping in something, spilling something, eating something, adventuring in something.
There are toys everywhere, avalanches of artwork, broken crayons, crumbs.
That’s my life right now.
And sometimes I let the shambles stress me out. 
But I shouldn’t
because one day, 
I’ll get all caught up on all the laundry, and all the dishes. 
The clothes will all be put away. 
The drying rack will be emptied.
I’ll turn around, waiting to see the newly-manufactured mess—and it won’t be there.
Because she won’t be there.
She’ll be out with friends
at college
in her own apartment
adventuring somewhere other than right where I am.
And now I need a tissue, 
but we’re out of tissues,
because we’re always running out of things.
She needs tissues to be blankets for her tiniest toys, see?
We go through them quickly.
Impossibly quickly.
So I’ll use toilet paper on my tears
And ignore those dishes
And forget that laundry
I want to make messes
Right there with her
I want to go on adventures
And share meals
And laugh
And cry
And hold onto her forever.
For as long as I can.

by Beth Kander


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