My feet hurt and my back hurt from standing in the kitchen for a big chunk of today. Between cooking with friends and washing all those dishes after the city turned off the water in our neighborhood, I spent the majority of my waking hours in that room. I have a pile of clean, drying dishes and a few leftover pieces of pizza to show for it.
It was a holiday. The Catholic celebration of the day that Jesus held the last supper with his disciples. I am not clear on all the importance and practice of it, but for us it meant no school or work, so we made it a social day.
I am an introvert. And yet I find myself filling up all my open time with other people. I find someone to email, text, Skype, or invite over. Some might say I should be better about knowing my own needs and taking care of myself so that I can do a better job of playing my part in the relationships around me. Maybe that's kind of true, but it feels selfish. I don't necessarily think I get to say to others that they only get a piece of my time or energy once I am feeling great. Because believe it or not, I have very early risers and I won't feel rested until they are teenagers who choose to sleep in on Saturdays. If I wait for that elusive perfect self to present to others, I'll stay home alone forever.
So I make the plans and open the doors and work together for something worthwhile, even if both sides don't bring perfection to the table. Between the all of us, we fill in some of the holes and find ourselves a little more refreshed for having been welcomed by someone else with no expectations of perfection. And when I say to someone else "You're worth a piece of my life, struggles and weariness and all", they say it back to me and we can have a good time.
I do wish the water would come back on so the half-finished load of laundry can run its course and get hung up. My kids played outside enough today that they got sweaty and dirty and needed baths, but homemade wipes have baby wash in them, so that's good enough before bed tonight. I left a 20 liter jug of water sitting in the sun for most of the day so it would warm up enough to run an effective load of bleached laundry. It's just my life. This is our rhythm. We do what's in front of us, love the people who pass our way, and somehow have managed to find our sea legs enough over the last several years that having water or power cut off only leaves us walking a little slower, not crippled.
It's enough that I can look around me at the end of day, finally blissfully quiet as children yield to sleep, and breathe the deep satisfaction of a day well spent. I want an open-handed life that has substance and avoids flash. I had that today and it feels just like home.