Tomorrow

It's after 11pm. Dishes from supper still wait to be put in the dishwasher. A pot of spaghetti sauce cools on the stove waiting to be put into jars, tomorrow. The house is littered with stuff. Toys, books, laundryshoesjacketsmoretoys..... it all starts to run together into what feels like one. big. huge. disaster. "I'm gonna clean this place up, tomorrow," I tell myself.

It's after 11pm. Oh wait. I already said that. Worse yet, when I went to type "11" just now, I started with "aleven" because you know, of course, that the "uh" sound is made by "A" at least some of the time.

So I've made it clear that it's after 11pm. Not even an hour before a new day starts. An hour before the whole cycle just picks up and starts all over again.... sleep, wake up, feed small children, cleanwashcookchaseteachwatch..... it all starts to run together into what feels like one. big. huge. disaster exhausting existence.

Each day cycles into another tomorrow. And it feels so meaningless, really.

I'm still working in the kitchen and I grab a clean dish from the dishwasher to put it away and notice it has what has to be paint on it. Dried on, bright pink, undefeated by the dishwasher, paint.

It's only logical to go on a paint hunt when you find paint in your dishwasher that you did not intentionally put there yourself. Especially with a budding artist in the house. So off I went, armed with hesitancy and nervous trepidation.

I'm tired of messes. Of disasters. Of chaos. But, all I found were small fragments of our day (which happened to be a real-winner-of-a Monday) all over the house.

Sitting on the desk was the iPod that Alex has so desperately tried to unlock. The password must be extra complicated because he's always been able to figure out his brother's passwords in the past. Earlier today, Alex sighed and said, "Mom, why can't you give me my own password?" Which was his 5-year-old way of saying, "Seriously Mom, I just want my own electronic gadget that nobody can take from me." Seeing the iPod made me smile. But probably mostly because I didn't take time to smile about it earlier today. I was tired of fighting. And arguing. And picking. It's just a stupid 3x5 piece of metal with a cracked screen. And a password.

I found Janae's paint brush sitting dry and still on the table in the school room. Her book of paper dolls lay silent next to it.

Landon's "iPhone" (ear buds that go into his iPod) lay in a tangled heap on the floor.

A Thomas the Tank Engine back-pack sat face down on the living room floor. Next to it, sat a Husker baseball cap. In an attempt to at least try to tidy up the house before tomorrow, I picked up the back-pack to set it on the couch and a painted rock fell out.

Noodles from supper still cling to the high chair. Korynne's doll and teddy bear lay neglected on the floor. The little air compressor for airing up flat bike tires still sits right outside the front door waiting to be tripped over  for Landon to put it away tomorrow.

Ironman and Spiderman costumes are still stashed back behind the stairway in a heap (where no one thinks Mom will find them) (because Mom, you know, never finds stuff back there) (but hey! at least it bought That Boy Who Stashed Them There some time to, well, NOT have to go out of his way to put something away! SCORE!). I make a mental note to remind the boys to put them away. And by away, I mean, The Real Away. As in, not stashed back behind the stairway.

(Do they not realize that I always find their I'm-not-going-to-put-my-stuff-all-the-way-away-right-now piles that they put there? In the same spot? Back behind the stairway?)

Tomorrow I'm going have to caution tape off that area back behind the stairway explain that I know it's super hard to tell but there's actually a big difference between a toy box and An Empty Area Back Behind The Stairway.

Huge difference.

For starters, one has 4 sides and is in the family room and has the color "blue" all over it.  

Tomorrow I'll lay out consequences for any piles of treasures I find in that stashing area by the stairs. from. now. on. Tomorrow. I'm going to work all these little kinks out and no more Toy Stashing will happen in that spot. These kids aren't going to get away with pulling the wool over their  mother's eyes anymore not putting their toys away.

And then I realize: I always count on tomorrow. Tomorrow will always come and today's endless cycle of existence can transition into tomorrow's endless cycle of existence and some day, some how one of these tomorrows will bring tidy kids who pick up their stuff. And put their stuff away. And get it done. Before tomorrow. Without stashing it behind the stairway.

But when that tomorrow comes, it won't include the little feet. The simple life of kids. The innocence of childhood. It will be a tomorrow that holds no painted rocks. No Thomas the Train backpacks left on the living room floor. No broken iPod to fight over. No plastic paint brush with uneven bristles. No sticky noodles to walk on.

Someday, a tomorrow will come and if adulthood doesn't get these kids of mine, tragedy will. The harsh reality of tomorrow is someday THIS that I have right now, will be over. And nothing will bring it back.

I'm promising myself to make better use of all the today's I have. And tomorrow will be one of those days that makes a difference in it's very own today.

Bring it, Tomorrow! 'Cuz, we're gonna have a good day.