I notice the sun beginning to descend behind the mountains and I scramble to figure out what my loved ones will eat for dinner. A few hours later, I serve them an unbalanced meal with a guilty heart. I glance around the house. Toys clutter nearly every surface, the trash is overflowing with fast food wrappers, the floor is covered in crumbs, dishes fill the sink...
I gaze at my family. Nearly every member enthralled by a screen. A little one with breakfast still on her chubby cheeks. Another with holes in the knees of his pants, hair covering his ears betraying his desperate need of a haircut. The littlest wails for no apparent reason, and the oldest covers his ears.
I trip over an overturned laundry basket in the hallway. Both laundry machines are full, and awaiting my attention. Dirty clothes clutter the floor, and a little one tells me that she has no clean socks in her drawer and "what should I do mom? My feet are cold."
The sun peers through the blinds, offering a ray of hope for a fleeting moment. But then those same rays point out the flecks of dust on the living room mirror and on the frames that surround memories of a white dress and naked feet.
I feel helpless to do anything about the weight that is shoving me down. I go through the motions of bagging up trash and pouring soap into the washing machine and pushing the broom, but there is still evidence of a haircut in the sink, and fingerprints on the walls, and that little one is still pushing the hair out of his eyes.
I put on my socks. At least my feet will be warm.