My eyes dart around the half-finished kitchen, still empty of the cabinet doors that are waiting to be painted in the garage. The contents of the drawers have been scattered on the countertop for a while.
The taco meat simmers on the stove. The shells in the oven are crisping quicker than usual, as is evident by the scent of almost burning. It’s Taco Tuesday here. But not really. Because, in reality, it’s a Wednesday. Taco Wednesday.
Let’s make it a thing for all the moms this week who missed it yesterday.
Dinner is filled with half-told knock-knock jokes from my 5-year-old, who pauses to shout at her middle sister that she can’t remember the line because, “You keep interrupting!” There’s also laughter from their older sister as she tells her own jokes. Hers actually make sense and are sometimes funny. I appreciate her humor immensely.
As the girls clear their plates, mostly because they want 10 minutes on electronics, my gaze wanders back to the kitchen wall. On it hangs a large chalkboard that currently reads, “Countdown to Daddy – 3 sleeps.”
Just three more sleeps. Three more sleeps until Daddy rolls in. Three more sleeps until we’re all together. We count down with sleeps often. And I suppose it does help us all. Just three more sleeps.
