I sometimes want to take a running tab of all the random chores I do around the house that no one will ever know about.
Things like cleaning the inside of the washing machine. Who knew that had to happen?
Or constantly wiping down the handle of the refrigerator. . . and the microwave. . . and the oven. . .
(It would be so much easier if everyone would just wash their hands before they touch everything!!)
Then there’s the toys.
I am constantly fixing toys.
Replacing batteries, reattaching heads, finding missing pieces.
Even combing out all our doll’s hair:
(It’s an interesting way to enjoy your morning cup-a-joe.)
In moments like this I think of my mother. I wonder what all she did for me that I was never aware of.
Did she brush out my doll’s hair too?
Was she constantly wiping down the microwave wishing that I didn’t always have sticky hands?
I remember realizing how much my mom loved me when I started peeling my own oranges.
My whole life I’ve been cursed with super flimsy fingernails. I’ve never been able to slice through packing tape, or open soda cans, or dig into the rind of an orange with the paper-thin excuses for “nails” that I have.
(Side note: My grandma had AMAZING nails, we used to beg her to scratch our backs. Alas, she was my step-grandmother, so none of those genes were passed on to me.)
Every time I wanted an orange I would bring said fruit to my mother and ask her to “start it” for me. Then she would roll her eyes, put the fruit to her mouth, and bite through that tough outer layer with her teeth.
You see, I inherited my awful, weak nails from my momma.
She couldn’t “start” my orange either.
It never occurred to me that I could just bite into the rind myself.
Why put myself through the nasty, bitter taste of the peel when my momma would just do it for me?
Well, now I bite into the orange rind for my kids and every time I do I think of my mom,
and our mutually weak nails,
and our undying love for our children.
Which we show with every orange peeled.
And every doll groomed.