At My Least Grateful

Come 5:00, or even some days by 4:00, I'm not at my best.

I'm tired from a day that started by 6:00 am at the latest. Orelia is tired too. We are both cranky and eagerly awaiting the triumphant return of Daddy. It's at this time of day when I'm at my least grateful.

I forget to be thankful for my beautiful and generally happy daughter. I forget to be thankful for our lovely house and backyard where I spend my days. I forget to be thankful that we live in literally the best place I can imagine raising my family. Mostly, at this point in the day, I am not grateful for my job as a stay at home mom.

The other day at 5:00 I began to think of my daily tasks in my former life as a lawyer. Every single one I could think of was a lot less desirable than doing what I was doing - pushing my daughter in a stroller, listening to Paul Simon, and passing toys when necessary to soothe.

Sometimes it's easy to forget to be grateful that I'm the one whom Orelia crawls onto, whining that she's tired from the day.

I'm the one who rubs her back and smoothes her newly forming curls. I get to hoist her onto my hip and take her inside for a change of scenery and fresh set of toys. I get to hand her cracker after cracker as we keep an eye on the driveway looking for John.

I'd much rather be where I am than finishing a memo or responding to an email.

So I put in Orelia's favorite CD and keep her away from our sharp corners for the millionth time.

We clap and sing with the music and finish up the day.