It’s true. Sometimes you’re cooking for the dog.

Another Wednesday. My day off. Well my day off from work but absolutely my day “on” at home.  Here in Fredericton, Wednesday is a half day from school, so Vi and I spend the morning together before the other three starving mammals arrive home shortly after noon with their endless requests to eat. Literally there are requests for food from 1pm until 3pm when I finally lose all my mommy marbles and shut down the kitchen until supper.

Wednesday, “on” day. Dishes, laundry, sweeping, mopping, decluttering and food prep. It’s the day I am deliberate about having my Wonder Woman Underoos on and do my best to take domesticity by the horns. The truth is though, my heart hurts a little to just sit and play with the kids, read books with Vi, play Barbies (instead of just tidying them) and colour; but that list, that endless list that if I just conquer today will most adsuradly save the rest of the week….

So I try to have a “good meal” on Wednesday too; something that pin-curled 50’s women in the floral print apron would be proud of. It need not be a complicated meal, just a good one and often these “good meals” take several hours of prep time. Clean kitchen, prep food, clean kitchen.  Why does the recipe say “Prep: 20 minutes”, when they mean 40? I’ll never understand.

Two weeks ago my “good meal” was potato scallop, two potato scallops even- cheesy and regular- meatloaf and green beans.  Not tricky to prepare, but time consuming.  So I started mid afternoon preparing and cleaning, setting out the pretty dishes. I was feeling pretty proud of myself by the time Chad got home and everything came out of the oven ready, nearly, at the same time.  We sat down to the loudness that is our supper table and the noses started to turn. ” I don’t like that.” “Can I have a peanut butter wrap?” “What’s THAT?”

This isn’t always the case, often our kids are very appreciative but I was tired, they were fussy and I was checking out. I caught myself several times staring out in to space thinking “seriously?” Truth is I’m a bit of a princess and Chad is a much better cook and I often entertain the idea of being a “kept” woman. Supper wrapped up and I found myself scrapping dinner into the dog’s dish. She was very, very excited about the meal I’d prepared, jumping and pushing her way past me to her dishes. She devoured the table scraps and as I watched her I thought to myself “You know what? It’s true. Sometimes you’re cooking for the dog.”

Hop in your invisible jet ahead two weeks with me to Wednesday night of  March Break. Chad and I had decided I’d work this Wednesday as all the kids were home and then we’d take Friday and Saturday together as a family. I received a call mid afternoon from Chad saying Eliya wasn’t feeling any better and he thought I’d best take her to the after hours clinic when I got off of work. Driving out to the clinic, book bag packed with books, snacks and drinks we settled in for the long wait that can often be reality if you don’t have a GP or yours happens to be away on vacation, as was the case with ours.

Eliya snuggled up and laid her head on my lap. For 3.5 hours. We read and laughed a little, she played a game or two, but mostly she just laid her head on my lap and I brushed her curly blonde hair with my fingers and told her who she was.

The world is so loud, and so fast.

Our family is so loud and so fast.

The lists are too long and too full, of good things even, but too full and too long.

And these 3.5 hours are cherished. I tell her of her little pink baby cheeks, and her tiny baby hands and how she was the most beautiful little thing.  She laughs as she can’t possibly understand as I tell her of the hours she was tied tight to me in her cuddly wrap, for days, weeks, months even, just to get her to settle as an infant. I tell her of the struggle for skin to skin as her Daddy and I fought to feed this “blue” baby. I even mention trying tap dancing just to stomp out the fear and frustration of imperfect parenting. I describe her first contended hours, her first smiles, her first Christmastime fat rolls-hallelujiah!- the glimmer in her eyes as that baby imp stuck her tongue out and laughed as only she can still do. I even dared to tell her how I miss these days as she grows up and becomes this amazing little woman and yes what a gift it is to know her.

3.5 hours later we crawl in the cold car and turn on the seat warmers to head home after a quick visit with the doctor on call. The light beams ahead into the dark snowy night and I can’t help but wonder if God doesn’t feel the same way toward me as I do toward her?  If He isn’t beaconing me to put aside the lists and the loud and the too full, yes even of the good things, and just sit with my head in his lap and let him stroke my head and whisper to me who I am.

You know what? It’s true. Sometimes I’m cooking for the dog, filling my days with things, good things, even necessary things. But I must be careful not to forget that what I really need is to just sit for awhile with my Father and be reminded of who I am. Mark 6:31 ” Come away with me and rest for awhile.”