Waffles and Nachos

Last night by 7:24pm, messy child had been bathed and husband had been sent off to weekly church duties. At approximately 7:25pm, the momma of the house gave way to exhaustion.

And once she did, her surroundings became quite comical to her.

I sat down. Breathed deep a few times. Laughed (to myself). Laughed (at myself). And then, what else is there to do then take pictures?

Besides, one day, my house will always be clean and every single little thing we own will be kept always in its place. And I hear I might miss days like this someday.

Someday.

Now, where to begin?

Let’s start here, shall we? Sixteen month-old darling. One out of two naps taken. No afternoon nap. (No afternoon breather.) Exhausted mother. No ambition to cook. Result? Starving family. Starving mother.
“When’s the last time we went to the store?”

Days and days. Weeks, even?
Months?

Nothing to eat. Not a thing, I say.

Well, a few things.

Waffle mix.
A few cracked pieces of tortilla chips from the bottom of the bag.
Mozzarella cheese.
Waffles it is.

Except:
No Pam spray + waffle batter = stuck on waffles.

Waffle iron washed.
Second try.
Stuck on waffle #2.

Giving up.

Chips and cheese it is.

Except no one wants chips and cheese. (Including me.)

Going from mentally preparing to eat waffles to nachos is nauseating.
(I wouldn’t recommend it.)

Second (spare) waffle iron plugged in.

First attempt a success!

Waffle number two: success!
And so on.

Waffles. Butter. Syrup.
Paper plates.
Success!

At last, we sat side by side at the table, eating, and laughing about how it took us two hours to get there. And I ended the night feeling thankful that through the good, the bad and all the in-between, I’m loved. (It’s the best feeling in the world.) And there I was, messy haired, clad in baggy sweats with waffle batter splattered across my chest. And my patience was worn. And there was laundry to be folded and a disastrous kitchen to be cleaned.

And I sat on my bench in the kitchen (amidst the aftermath), snapping photos and realizing none of that really mattered.

(I’m learning to recognize what does.)

When I was young(er), I used to listen to a song and dream a little about what my future life as a mother (and wife) would be like. It went something like this:

"Waiting through all your bad, bad days
just to end them with someone you care about."


That was me last night.



I think I get it now.