Rain in the desert

It rained last night and there is no better thing to a parched desert floor. Dust swirls up and meets the rain and combines into wondrous mud. Previously dirt-strewn roads are suddenly clean and shiny. Small puddles of mirrored water become impromptu baths for desert fowl or swimming pools for Jessie's tiny toes.

I did not miss this delightful morning because I actually had a day off! Going through the papers in Jessie's backpack I am confounded that the pile of notices from the school has mysteriously multiplied overnight. How does this happen? I unfold a pink paper and I realize I am going to miss the Mom's and Muffins again ... working that day too. Dani says " Who's going to help Jessie remember her "dance moves" when she tries out for the talent show? Aren't you working that day too?" I stop a moment and wonder how I was able to participate so much more in the past with my children in their schooling. I already know the answer and I start to cry. For most of my career as a nurse I have only worked two days a week. When Dave decided to go back to school, then I switched to full-time and the papers in the back-packs started piling up, rings appeared in the toilets and in the bath-tubs,and around necks.Baths became a sniff your pit to see when you last had dunked yourself and I started my mold projects in the myriad of left-over containers in my fridge.

After Dave graduated and obtained successful employment, he asked me to cut back. Someone had to be the main arm-pit sniffer, backpack sort-er-outer and toilet scrubber. I have balked and gone back and forth in my mind about this. At my job things are organized and lovely. People smile as they welcome their new children into the world. It is pleasant and I get to see my friends. Work for me is my break from the chaos that sometimes surrounds me at home. I have not had the courage to step up to be the full-time arm-pit sniffer until this morning. I called my boss and I asked to go part-time. I have been crying ever since.

You may think it was the full back-pack or the "Moms and Muffins" thing that changed my mind, but it wasn't. Okay, now I am sobbing...pray for me, would you? Last night, my fifteen year old stepped in a pile of dog poop that was in the study. Fluffy had left a little present and no one had noticed. My fifteen year old had stepped in the pile, knew she had stepped in it, but decided it was no big deal and just tracked it through the whole house. I didn't care so much about the mess. Though dog crap does stinketh. I cared that my fifteen year old with schizophrenia was in a state of mind where she knew she stepped in something awful, knew it stunk, but was unable to take care of it. That is why I am sobbing. I know I need to be home to help her. Sometimes it is just so exhausting and certainly not as rewarding as helping someone else start their new family. But who else but a mother would clean dog crap off the foot of their daughter? She must've walked around 3 hours with dog **** on the soles of her feet.

so I called my boss and asked to go part-time and I will probably cry all day, while I hug my fifteen year old.