This morning, even though I woke at 7am, I got started much later than normal. I was “awake” and on the couch, but I couldn’t do anything more than lay there . . . cup of hot tea in my hand, eyes half closed, trying my best to stay aware of what the Kidlets were doing.
(apparently I didn’t do a very good job of that since I later discovered Mr. Boy had gleefully learned how to pour milk out of his “leak-proof” sippy cup . . . all over the floor. Sigh)
Finally, the caffeine hit my system and I was able to be normal once again — dressing kidlets, cleaning up spilled milk, and putting away the remains of breakfast.
You know — Mommy tasks.
As I passed through the playroom and caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, I was aghast.
Red Christmas pajama pants . . . Hubby’s Texas A&M shirt . . . face still puffy from sleeping . . . hair rivaling that of The Bride of Frankenstein.
When did I turn into this . . . this thing?
What happened to the woman who spent hours every morning taming her mane into glossy curls? Who never left the house without make-up in place? Who always made sure her outfit passed inspection from every angle?
What happened to her?
With a sigh, I headed back to the couch. With my Mommy Tasks completed, I had my chance to open the laptop and finish my “Blogger Tasks.”
That’s when I saw it — a note from my Hubby.
Who cares about spilled milk after reading a note like this?
Who cares about having hair going every which direction after reading a note like this?
Who cares if you’re not wearing cute, trendy outfits after reading a note like this?
Not me — there are things more important.
As Hubby so eloquently reminded me.
