Mud

Here I type at the end of the day, exhausted.

Supper dishes still on the table and piled in the sink, books across the floor, laundry layered waiting to be washed so that everyone has clean undies tomorrow, and a stack of office work that keeps getting pushed until tomorrow.

The tasks of motherhood are relentless.  Add to it that I (and we) are still struggling with ongoing health issues and it's a recipe for days of feeling like I'm trudging in mud.

10 years ago, I traveled to Cote d'Ivoire, West Africa.  Our taxi dropped my team off at the wrong stop and we had to walk to the bus station a number of blocks away. A torrential rain from the night before left the dirt road soaked and puddled.  The only way to get from where we were to where we needed to be (and quickly not to miss our bus) was to walk across and through the mud.  So we did.

I'm sure it wasn't just dirt from the smell - you can use your imagination - and it was terribly sticky.  The mud oozed into every section of my sandals and sucked my soles in with every step.


We made it to the bus station with enough time to rinse with a kettle's worth of water. Just enough to rinse the top layer. Still gritty, still dirty, but enough to make it to the end of the day when we found hot water to wash clean.

I'm walking in my own mud path. Still moving forward but slowly and with life a lot more grimy than I ever dreamed.  Life isn't perfect, and my dishes aren't done, and I need just a kettle's worth of water for today.