Three boys, with spray bottles full of it, let loose on the windows last afternoon. White vinegar does a great job of making things shiny and spotless - if you wipe it dry afterwards. That detail was mostly lost on little fingers consumed with the power of the spray nozzle. But they are learning.
The house smelled of fresh sourdough bread this morning.
I mixed it up last night. It rose slowly until morning, when I threw the puffy sour-smelling lump into the oven. Half an hour later, the aroma of fresh bread permeated the house as we prepared to run out the door for church. (No, I'm not super mom because I made fresh bread early on a Sunday. I sacrificed the dishes, my kids ate Cheerios for breakfast, and we were a bit late for the service because my kids were being neglected and playing outside in the snow and dirt and were smeared with cold mud when it was time to pile in the van.) It was lovely to come home to warm homemade bread.
I am thirty years old today. In the past 24 hours, I've cleaned frosting off the chalkboard. I've discussed warthogs with a five year old. I've unclogged two toilets. I simultaneously showered and wiped clean the bathtub. I washed and dried and (mostly) folded five loads of laundry and put fresh sheets on all the beds - with help from toddlers, which takes it to a whole new level, especially the bunk beds. I changed baby diapers and fought over which underpants the potty-trainee would wear. I vacuumed twice. (The flour bucket was pushed into the bathroom and left a trail yesterday. This evening, I vacuumed the rest of the downstairs so we wouldn't start the school week with an extra point on my to-do list.) I've retrieved at least three pairs of mittens discarded outside. Well, one mitten got frozen into the driveway; that pair will have to be reunited at the next thaw. I've made lots of meals and washed countless dishes. I planned a basic menu for the week and an overview of school plans. I inherited a big freezer from a Nascar driver's driver (the fella who drives the race cars to all the tracks.) I wiped tears. I kissed my husband.
What changed between the sour vinegar day and the fresh bread day?
"Set up signposts," says Jeremiah 31:21, "Make landmarks." Remember the way from which you have come.
One year ago was my due date for my fourth son. He came early; I didn't end up sharing my birthday. But the birthday mark makes it easy to remember the past year. My husband had just been very sick with the flu. I had just gotten home a few days prior from the hospital after the emergency visit that resulted in brain surgery to place a shunt in Ben's little body. It was our first few days of normalcy in the midst of the new baby fog of tiredness. We sat on the sofa. We talked kids, the weather, whose turn it should be to catch up with the pile of bills and mail.
Clean windows were far from priority.
Homemade bread was farther.
To remember from whence I've come is good. From the stark smell of cleaning to the homey welcoming aroma of yeasty flour... From the days of my son's fragile infancy to his round chubby-ness sleeping peacefully in his brothers' room through the night... From back, from my own childhood, to now. Remembering. How God has kept me. How God has taught me to know Him. He is faithful.
What does the future hold? Maybe I will die tomorrow. Maybe I will live fifty more years, or seventy. Maybe the hardest lessons are still to come. Probably. Here I am, somewhere in the middle, marking memories. My skin doesn't fit like it used to, but I still get pimples sometimes. Birthday. It is a good time to mark. To remember.
Today, I have clean windows (sort of) and fresh bread. Memories. And hope for the future. And cake.
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| Henry, with birthday cake. |
This is so good.
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