Laundry Hampers, Front Porch Light, and Leftovers
First, I have to say that I’m grateful for today. I woke up with energy, made my spinach smoothie, went to work, and, in between actually working, received the sweetest hugs from two of the littlest people at Mission Hills Christian School. Oh, they make my heart happy. Hugs from the grown-ups weren’t too shabby either.
Then there’s Chandler.
In the sweetest of moments, he is there. In the most difficult moments, he is there. And I want him to BE there. REALLY BE there.
I can honestly say that, even though I am devoted to my kids and love them more than life itself, I don’t think of each of them every single minute of every single day. But it’s different now with Chandler. Every minute. Every day. Not necessarily in words or pictures, but in a presence, a sense, a missing, a longing, an all-encompassing ache. I’ve been told that will ease up at some point. Hard to imagine, but maybe.
For some reason, our family has always had an issue with laundry hampers. Years ago, I transferred laundry responsibilities to each of my four kids. It makes sense. I only wear one set of clothes. If they’re old enough to use a washing machine, why should I be responsible for washing, drying, folding, and putting away four extra sets of clothes? But since this transference of power, an oddity has occurred. Laundry hampers disappear. Sometimes they re-emerge. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they appear in the laundry room full. Sometimes they appear empty. When there appears to be a shortage of hampers, I buy another. I’ve probably purchased 5 hampers in the past two years. Then they ALL show up at once in the laundry room, and no one claims them.
I decided if I put names on them, all would be resolved. So each kid has a hamper with their name written in black Sharpie.
This week, I discovered SIX empty hampers in the laundry room. Six! I’m so confused. But the bigger issue — as I picked up each hamper to try and discern its owner, I discovered that one of them belongs to a member of our family who won’t be washing his clothes any more.
A couple of nights ago, the front porch light was on, and I went to turn it off. Why? Because I knew that it would shine into Chandler’s room upstairs and keep him awake.
There was leftover steak in the refrigerator. I wasn’t worried. Chandler eats everything.
It’s the little things. Laundry hampers, the porch light, leftovers.