Somedays

Somedays, I never get out of my pajama. Somedays, I don't brush my teeth until Kyle gets home. Somedays, we never leave the house, and the laundry is piled up on the floor and the sink is overflowing with dishes.

But none of this bothers me.

Because someday, very soon, I'm going to wake up and this will be gone:

I'll no longer see this at the store:

I'll no longer see this at the museum:

I'll have plenty of time to brush my teeth, iron my clothes, and have nice things in my house.

But I won't have this:

When the boys are grown and gone, no one will remember the lack of dental hygiene (except, maybe, my dentist). No one will remember the house being trashed or the errands that were never run.

But I will remember this:

And cherish it in my heart, until the day I die.