Marathons, Maintenance Men, and Motherhood

So, I’m pretty tired tonight. Today was crazy candy party day at school. I took my own daughter trick or treating when I got home. My brother came to stay with us, too, since he’s running the marathon tomorrow. It’s the mini marathon (a half), but apparently he’s one of those crazies who is running the full.

And then I found out that my kitchen sink, which started exhibiting problems last night, has some serious issues. A maintenance man from my building came to look at it and forbid me to use it until a plumber can come on Monday.

“Forbid is certainly a strong word choice,” I thought to myself as he walked out the door.

So, naturally, I decided to use it as soon as he left. I immediately understood his verb usage when a huge amount of water gushed under the sink and continued to gush thereafter. And now that I’m “forbidden” from washing dishes, I suddenly want to wash them more than I want to do anything in the world at the moment. Like if you were to show up at my doorstep and offer to whisk me away to Paris OR wash my dishes in a problem-free sink, I think I would choose the latter.

So after a day like this, I just want to gaze at my sleeping daughter. Perhaps it’s because I have no choice but to gaze at her since I’m stuck sharing a bed with her, while my brother sleeps in my cozy bed. Crazy marathon runner.

I will admit though, that watching her sleep makes me sentimental. It takes me back to when she was a baby. My pregnancy with her was miserable. I had sciatica. I had gestational diabetes. I had kidney stones. My gastrointestinal tract was completely messed up. (I like talking about gastrointestinal issues more than the average person, but I’ll spare you the details on that one.)

Because of how lousy I felt, I hadn’t really let myself think too much about what my baby would be like. I was afraid to go there. After all, I thought of myself as being someone with such bad luck at that point in my life, that surely I would produce less than stellar offspring.

So when I saw this baby–this beautiful, brown haired, curly headed baby who looked so FIERCELY at me from first sight– I was in utter shock. Out of all those nine months of misery during a not-so-pleasant phase of my relationship with my then-husband, came this amazingly strong and striking baby… A baby that I thought was so completely different than me.

And as time went on, I began to realize how it was her birth–the action of birthing and caring for this incredible little girl–that actually caused a rebirth within myself.

And I gotta tell you. That’s actually something I would choose ANY day over a working kitchen sink.


Tonight’s recipe is from my brother. It has some processed ingredients in it, but it is REALLY good. And very easy. And you could even make it healthier by using whole grain, flax seed filled tortillas… But then my brother would think you were a wuss.

Wet Burrito Casserole


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