Matt got a walking boot on Thursday. As we left the doctor's office I said to myself, "our long national nightmare is over" (didn't Ford say that about Nixon? I don't remember, I'm pretty sure I wasn't born yet). That night he (Matt, not Gerald Ford) made me a large mug of ovaltine and took a pile of laundry out of my hands to carry upstairs. And this morning he brought me tea in bed for the first time since August. Feel quite tearfully and pathetically grateful.
The fact is, miraculously, I have coped beyond my means. While not the immaculate house of my pride before a fall posting in August, the habits we formed were invaluable in the general day to day functioning of keeping order and fighting off clutter. Elphine and Alouicious have turned out to be old enough to clear the table after meals (how had I not noticed this before?) and feed the dog and cats. Romulus, who somehow had been flying under the radar doing no work whatsoever, has learned how to arrange shoes neatly on the shoe shelf. Gladys has picked up that essential and most basic task of gathering sippy cups and bottles.
But Matt is back on his feet not a moment too soon. I am now fully out of breath in a quiet standing position, this baby is a pound already and I now officially have to roll off the couch to stand up. I'm so grateful to be one of those people with a modern and involved husband who knows what Clorex, Pledge and Laundry Detergent are, whose coffee machine goes off by itself in the morning, and who teaches all the children to say "yes Mamma" (or "Mom" in Glady's case, with a large pinch of condescension) and "did you call?" and "is there anything I can do to help with supper?" so I don't have to. It is only a matter of time before my great dream of sitting in the living room entertaining friends while my small army of children cook, serve and clean up dinner is realized.
And now, because I've already had my tea, I'm going to reorganize the toys and then take a nap. Have a lovely weekend.