Friday, November 30, 2012
Old Faithful Egg Whisk
4:30 in the morning.
That's when I woke up. And that's when I remembered that I hadn't washed my son's clothes yet, and he'd be leaving in a mere two hours and 15 minutes for a fourth grade field trip to St. Augustine. Oops.
He wouldn't mind so much. Left to himself, he'll wear the same pair of jeans, with a hole in the knee that he doesn't want me to repair, day and night. But I care. So I heaved myself out of bed and hobbled my creaking joints down the hall, snuck into the room that all three of my boys share, rummaged around in the dark to make sure I had the right clothes, and started a load. Then I had to stay up for another half hour to put them in the dryer. I savored the quiet.
Though I crawled back under my covers again, I never did go back to sleep.
I woke him at 6:20 and whispered about the clean clothes, warm from the dryer, at the end of his bed. Oh yes, that was the shirt they were supposed to wear, the special one with his school's name on it that they passed out for the 50th anniversary celebration. Good thing I washed it.
He usually eats breakfast at school, but this morning I wanted to send him off with a hearty meal since I figured his class would be leaving before the cafeteria opened. Eggs, sausage, buttered toast -- enough for him and Daddy and me, along with a cup of tea for Daddy, who would be driving him to school.
As I grabbed the egg whisk, I mused that I can't even remember how long I've had it. I've been married 27 years and I must acquired it even before that. My mom probably passed it along to me to equip my college apartment. All of my other whisks have been replaced many times over, but this one, that one that bounces and boings, is still going strong.
Good for it.
I want to be just as faithful. Just as strong. Just as resilient, with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. Ready for service again.
How about you?
You may also like to read My Glorious Dish Towel, a reader favorite on a similar theme.