Paste

Yesterday I needed a reminder of why I bother to be a mommy. It was a hard, terrible day, full of tears, anger, and tantrums. After picking up the house, I journeyed through my picture archives to find the child who I adore. I remembered the way I felt when I first saw her, the way she felt in my arms, the smile that spread across my face when she giggled for the first time. I remembered the hugs and kisses and they way she smells when she gets out of the bath. I love that child and she is a gift. All the warm memories helped me calm down, go and give my sleeping baby a kiss and then go to bed myself, thankful we made it through the day.

It all started many hours earlier when she got in to the flour container in the kitchen while I was upstairs working on a project. The full tub of flour was dumped out on to the floor after (or before) she threw it all over the bills. She also found a pan I had soaking with water in the sink. The water joined the flour on the floor and when I heard a splash, I went running. The sight I took in what complete disaster. The child herself was coated in paste, from head to bare feet and she looked quite guilty as I surveyed the piles of flour and puddles of water. I squeaked out, "Go to the bathroom and wash," as I stood in agony at the mess that lay before me. As the reality soaked in, I realized the water was still running in the bath room and I heard Emma singing, "Clean-up, clean-up....". I went to the bath room to find her elbow deep in a sink plugged by wet toilet paper and water. She had emptied the roll in to the sink and was spreading the glops on her arms, over the four and water paste. It was all I could do to keep my calm as I quietly drew a bath, wiped off the wet toilet paper from her body, scraped the pasted clothes off and put her in the bath. The strict instructions I gave her in the nice warm bubble bath were to stay put, clean off, and play while I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. I went to get the shop vac and began sucking up the disaster. A bit later, I heard the pitter-patter of wet feet come running and I looked up as Emma, naked and clean, came slipping on to the kitchen floor. She fell on her back into the flour paste. Once again, I scooped her up and hauled her to her room. As I was finding clothes to put on her again dirty body, she peed on the floor. I cleaned up the mess and this time gave her strict instructions to stay in her room. I did lose it and cleaned up the kitchen through my tears of frustration. By that time, the flour and water were drying into a crust and I scrubbed and scrubbed. It was hard work and all I wanted to do was run and hide and have my mother come clean up this mess. Well, I am the mommy now. It is my child, my child's mess, my anger, and my problem to cry to God about.

Did this calamity ever end? It didn't feel like it as the day went on and on and I waited for Jeff to come home (at 8pm). So, that is what led me upstairs to My Pictures, trying hard to remember why I took this job and why I even say, "I love it!"