Every day, I leave work and drive to daycare to pick up the girls.
Every day, we come home to have a snack and start homework.
Every day, I make dinner.
It’s always the same, day after day. I’m not complaining; I honestly don’t mind. I love picking the girls up from daycare and seeing their sweet faces. I love how they clamor for my attention in the car, each of them with stories from their day. I love how Katie wants to sit on my lap while I open the mail. I love how Maddie does her homework at the kitchen table and tells me about everything she is learning at kindergarten. I love how the smell of dinner starts to fill the kitchen.
But yesterday my husband had a rare day off work. He sent me a text saying he would pick up the girls. So, instead of going home I drove to my sister’s house. “You’re just in time for coffee,” she said when I opened her door.
I sat at my sister’s table and wrapped my hands around the warm mug. We talked about nothing and everything and a little bit of something. No one was sitting on my lap or tugging at my shirt or demanding my attention. It was lovely.
When I finally arrived home, Katie came running towards me for a hug. “Mommy!” she squealed, jumping up and down impatiently while I tried to set down my bags. Maddie was already talking to me before I even entered the kitchen. I gave my husband a quick kiss and sat down at the kitchen table. Katie crawled into my lap and I looked through the mail as Maddie spilled all the details of her day.
“What’s for dinner?” my husband wondered.
I could still taste the coffee.