Today I was putting the grocery cart back after a morning of errands with Jamie and Libby. I was thinking about all that I had to do still today-drop off Jamie's preschool paperwork, head home, put away groceries, get the kids lunch (which entails 2 lunches since Libby can't eat everything Jamie eats), feed myself (which entails a separate lunch because I usually want more variety and grownup tastes than my 3 year old), cleaning up after lunch (which entails putting dishes away, putting food away, wiping counters, wiping tables, quick sweep under the table, and more likely than not giving the baby a bath since she has the worst table manners)...plus after that I'd have to get some laundry done, put two kids to bed (one needing nursing the other needing multiple stories) and then after just a little bit get everyone back up to walk the mile round trip to pick up Anne and get dinner for 5 started before John comes home at 6. Phew. That sort of a list runs around in my head daily if not more often. No, not "if not more often"...It does run around more often than that.
Needless to say I was feeling overwhelmed as I was pushing the grocery cart back...I was tired and hungry and the least appealing thing right then was 1. thinking of the laundry list (pun intended) of stuff still to get done and 2. thinking about how it would be at least an hour before I could eat since the two little ones have no concept of being able to wait for their meal. I saw a man walking out of the store just then. By himself. Carrying one loaf of bread. And I thought "Boy is he lucky...he's alone, he's getting peace and quiet and he can go home right now and do whatever he wants and not have to take care of anyone else. He's so lucky. I wish I were so lucky." And as I thought that I was hit so hard, it was nearly physical, that he wasn't lucky....he didn't have two adorable children. Both with the chubbiest, most kissable cheeks. One that was snuggly, and kisses me with wet open mouth kisses and every single one of her problems can be solved just by spending time with me-usually in an embrace. And the other a sweet, smart, charming boy. Who would tell me stories upon stories and ask up the most thoughtful questions and say the sweetest things to me ("Mommy-don't tell anyone but you are my favorite mom.") and who comes up to us and says "Can I cuddle for just a yittle bit?". That man, all alone without any sticky fingers grabbing at him, without any sweet, lispy voices telling him stories, without a baby having her tears instantly stopped the second she's picked up, he isn't the lucky one. I am. I am so very very very lucky.