My feet stick to the floor. The sneakers I reserve for indoor use, strapped on the moment I awake, give away the stage of life we are in. Criiick, shwoof, criiick, shwoof, across the kitchen, as I walk over spilled and dried milk because the boys need to feel like they are big enough to pour it themselves. I could mop every 10 minutes, I could, but would you?
This morning, as I watched Daniel get ready to leave the house for a day of it, I pouted severely.
"I wish I could leave, too," I said. "Can I sign up for something else?"
He smiled and pulled me close. "I would feel the same way, I really would," he said (only after I told him to say that, of course - he's not THAT perfect, people).
But then, as we were waiting for the microwave to ding, he broke the silence with, "You couldn't be doing anything more significant, though. If you wanted to do something really significant in this life, you are doing it right now."