I recently read a blog in which the writer said she wanted her home to feel like a great big hug to her husband and her children when they enter. Tonight, halfway into my 10pm cleaning, I remembered that image and felt warm with the knowledge that tonight my home will feel like a great big hug to my husband when he comes home (well after I'm asleep).
Yesterday, as I was hurriedly throwing food at hungry (admittedly demanding) children—assembling quesadillas too quickly to clean up after myself—I sighed at the mess surrounding me and the yelps of my children in my ears. And then I stubbed my toe. Hard. A little defeated, I sank to the floor, and Trenton, always sensitive to my moods, put down his quesadilla and said, "Mom, maybe you need a snuggle."
The wife/mother job is hard; there's no denying that. But another part of me thrives on it.