The Grind

A while back, Elder Hinckley (Pres. Hinckley's son) came to Florida for our Stake Conference and told a story about his dad. Someone had asked if there would be food in heaven, and President Hinckley quipped, "I don't know, but if there is, I hope we don't have to do the dishes."

I know the feeling. I don't like doing the dishes either. Dishes spend their time on an endless conveyor belt that travels from the cupboard to the sink. There, a robot or a trained monkey could rinse them and load them into the dishwasher. Unfortunately, we have neither a robot or a trained monkey in this house and so I usually fill that role. The cycle is never ending, and there are so many times I find myself thinking, "couldn't we just stop eating for a while?"

So much of my day is spent just trying to keep up. It took nearly two days to get the laundry all caught up (it was mostly done Monday, but one more load was required yesterday when Allie woke up wet and I had to wash her bedding), and none of the laundry baskets in the house are empty today. Every day I am making the same beds, picking up the same toys, sweeping the same floor and wiping off the same high chair. It's the part of motherhood no one likes, but we all do because the only alternative is living in filth and that's really no alternative at all.

So, why do we do it? There must be a reason. Of course there is. I'll tell you my reason. I'm easily delighted. At least when it comes to my kids. God, in his infinite wisdom, must have known that I would need a heart brimming with love for my kids so that hours (and days) of frustration could be forgotten in an instant of tenderness. It's not only the funny things they say, but the way I can see myself in the things they do that get me. When I find Allie "cooking dinner" with her ABC's, I have to wonder how many times she has watched me, wanting nothing more than to grow up to be like me.

Or when Damon gets off the bus with three suckers from his bus driver, telling me he asked her for two more so he could share with his mom and sister, I am touched by his thoughtfulness and my heart is warmed. See? Easily delighted.

And then the hours pass. Allie's cooking experiment isn't cute anymore when she refuses to get off the oven door, despite my logical explanation of how the door isn't strong enough to hold her little body. Damon's attitude sours when I have to remind him that he still hasn't finished his homework and won't be able to play until it's done. And I spend the rest of the evening cooking dinner and doing the dishes. Why do I do it?, I start wondering again. The work is never-ending. It's tiring. I would rather do something else. And then I look out into the family room and my baby is crawling.

It's too much for my poor heart to take. I am suddenly as giddy as I have been in a long time. I don't expect you to be as impressed as I was, but I'm sure you can relate, when your own child did something small and simple that warmed your heart, too.

Here's to the grind, and to those moments of delight that make it worth it.