Something's Gotta Give

It’s not that life’s been boring lately or that there isn’t plenty to write about. In fact, just the opposite. At seven months, every day is full of firsts (and equally amazing seconds), all of which I'd like to record: the way Celie grabs at my nose when she eats, her obsession with the remote control and her determination to reach it, the exactitude with which she uses her thumb and forefinger to examine new fabrics and foods, or the way Celie turns her head to the side and wiggles her bottom when settling in for sleep.

Yet there is so little time to write these days. With my maternity leave effectively over and tenure looming in the not-so-distant future, it seems I just can’t find the time like I used to—or rather, there are many evenings when the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer.

Still, I don't want to forget these little things. Like the day we spent in the park last week after a visit to the coffee shop. It wasn’t anything particularly special, just a picnic. But it was the kind of day I'd always pictured having with my child: we sat together, Celie sitting up on her own yet still kind of leaning on me, while I slowly sipped a latte and tried to figure out what had her so entranced. She searched for the source of sounds and squinted at the sun; both of us surprisingly warm on an otherwise chilly day. We watched boys play catch while a pack of dogs tried to steal the ball. We turned as trucks rumbled by getting louder and louder and then softer and softer until only the whistling of birds remained. We noticed how the breeze blew our hair. We pulled up grass, but we didn't put it in our mouths—“grass isn’t for eating unless you’re desperate,” I explained, which seemed to suffice as Celie turned her attention toward digging her heels into the gooey soil.

Each day I lament not having more time, but alas, something's gotta give. In fact I realized somethings already had when I almost mistook a giant ball of dust rolling across the floor for our dear cat. "Lilly!" I said, thinking, "You've grown!" It wasn't long after I caught Celie gingerly stroking a piece of lint from our carpet (again, with just one little finger, with such care) that I finally broke down and hired some help. After a considerable search, I was overjoyed to welcome Claudia and her team of Brazilian cleaning ladies into our home, each of them taking turns ooooohing into Celie's blue eyes as I stood there feeling bad for the mess.

"We really don't normally live like this," I began, suddenly feeling as if I were back at St. Pet's in confessional instead of my own living room. "I'm a teacher, you see, and well, with Mardi Gras and this workshop I'm planning, it's been three weeks since my last..."

I couldn't tell if the details of my message were getting through, but I could see by their kind and knowing expressions that they'd heard it all before. "Leeeeezzzz, Leeeeeezzz," Claudia patiently reassured me as she patted my arm, "eeeveryone needs help. Theeese is what we do."

And do it they did, as three hours later the house was aglow. Orange, lemon, Pinesol and bleach permeated the house, a fragrant mix of aromatherapy that left me feeling wonderfully high. With each surface swiffered and scrubbed, I busied myself folding massive piles of laundry, feeling all the more Mary Poppins. "Celie!" I said, "Isn't this fun?! One, two, three, four!" I finally understand why my own mom talks to herself out loud to this day: with a baby on board, not a job gets done without counting steps, calling out colors or giving things names. But somehow, in a clean house, it just seems more enjoyable. "Mommy is folding Daddy's underpants! Can you say underpants?"

I watched as Claudia and the gals gather up their pails, a warm sense of gratitude filling my heart as if a check for $80 wasn't enough--a sentiment I suspect Claudia may have shared. No, I wanted to hug them all. Detecting my apologetic joy, Claudia again took my arm. "Don't worry, Leeeez, it is beautiful, we come for clean." No small task apparently, as she quickly wrinkled her nose and added, "We did the best we could but, ahhhhh.....your house was verrrry dirty." Oh, you know its bad when even a professional is taken aback.

Even so, I am left with the lovely resonance of her first words--everyone needs help--and how true this is, now more than ever. As much as I may have hoped otherwise, I am not a superMom. There are just not enough hours in the day--but thankfully, there is also no shame in admitting it either. If something's gotta give, I'd rather it be my role as Housekeeper than my Life as everything else. There are just too many more important things to be done. I've got picnics to take!