My day had been hijacked by an unexpected trip to Salt Lake in the middle of the afternoon. My to do list, robust and lengthy, sat neglected on the kitchen table. I got home and started cleaning the kitchen, scheming how to reclaim the rhythm of accomplishment around here.
Emma and Vanessa came in. They both have colds and were each carrying a full size box of Kleenex like they were accessories. Emma started explaining why she hadn't come home from school directly after school and what she needed to do in the evening and I was half listening because dishes! and wiping counters! I mean, I had important stuff to do.
Then I looked up and her eyes were full of tears. What? I stilled my hands and demanded an explanation. (Another one because I hadn't been paying enough attention the first time.)
She explained that the casting had been announced for her productions class and she was sorely disappointed with how it had gone. Then she went on to tell me all the myriad ways she wasn't good enough.
I don't know. Something about my admirable and maddening and spectacular girl saying she's not good enough. It does something to me.
I abandoned the half cleaned kitchen and we moved to the family room. Vanessa and Emma sat on the couch--each holding a box of Kleenex and I sat across from them. I started talking and we soon were all three crying and I don't even know exactly what I said because Mama Bear was in the building.
After, Vanessa said, "Wow. I wish I could write that down and use it for a monologue for an audition."
Emma said, "My mom gives the best pep talks."
Again, I'm not even sure what I said.
Mark wandered in in his pajamas. He had stayed home from school. (Also sick.) I had been trying to get him to eat all day with little success.
"Will you make me grilled cheese sandwiches?" he asked humbly.
"Sandwiches?" I asked. "How many are we talking?"
"Two or three."
So I went into the kitchen and started slicing cheese.
My to do list isn't all its cracked up to be anyway.