Motherhood & Resurrection

Yesterday I started the morning off by spilling a toddler potty full of pee down the front of me. Followed that up with phone calls to insurance underwriters, mortgage companies, credit card people, and the tax assessor’s office. Then I dumped hot coffee in my lap.

In between, the girl held tight to my belt loops, whined and screamed, and finally melted down completely because her favorite horse broke his leg (well, she snapped it like a twig, but you understand, tragic).

“Can you reinstate our policy?” with “Excuse me, yes, River, I’ll get a band-aid for the horsey,” with “So we have no car insurance?” with “Alright, alright, be quiet, mommy is trying to talk!” with “Hey, I have ten bills here I need to send out, we have three days to figure it out.” with “Honey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mommy hasn’t been paying attention to you. I’m sorry.”

“You my friend?” she asks, tilted head to the sky, to me, pink around the eyes. I wipe tears and kiss her cheek. “You my family?” she continues.

Yes. I am your friend. I am your family. I get down on the ground with her. “You a woman, momma?” Yes, River. I’m a woman.

This is how I stray so far out and this is how I come back. My teacher, she's two.

“I want the hokey pokey!” she demands from the back seat, pink fleece hat surrounds blue pools of light, and straps down under the chin. I turn five to ten times in traffic, all the way to school, just to see that face. As sleep deprived as I am, on my own waterwheel all night, she pulls the light up past all the weariness and, light to light, we go into the day.