Time

I am sitting here, in the quiet, on a Saturday. A rare occasion. Curly is out with her Auntie M, StinkyMan and Daddy went out for some boy time, Peanut is napping and BabyGirl is right here in my lap, snoring (she did, alas, catch the stupid cold the other kids have had.) And so I am typing with one hand.

I could be doing a lot of things. I could be folding the mountain of clean clothes in the laundry room. I could be unloading the dishwasher. I could be cleaning the kitchen or the bathrooms. I could be sorting through the closets, ditching the things that have been outgrown or worn out.

I am a bit of a bad homemaker. I fully admit it. I was decently good at it before kids. Probably because the mess and dirt were minimal then. But 6 years ago, with the birth of Curly, my shot at Domestic Engineer of the Year went out the window.

But I am looking at my sleeping baby and I know these times won't last. There will be a Saturday when they are all out, off with friends or various sports practices and I will be sitting here, in the quiet, wondering where the baby years went. I am reminded of the old poem:

I hope that my child, looking back on today

will remember a mother who had time to play.

Because children grow up while you're not looking.

There are years ahead for cleaning and cooking.

So, quiet now cobwebs, dust go to sleep.

I'm nursing my baby and babies don't keep.

And so I sit, holding my youngest. I know these days will be gone too soon.