my sister has a broken pinky and my mother has a bad back. since my dad is at work most of the time, it falls on me to be the designated caretaker. caregiver. whatever. it's not like this is a permanent thing, or even that it's difficult, but it's been a bother. when i'm asleep and my mom calls down the stairs for me to make breakfast, i don't feel like clapping my hands and breaking into song. and i don't act like it. and that's what bothers me the most. i hate it that i haven't been as gracious and caring as i'm able to be. even if her illness is psychosomatic, like i'm led to believe it is, she's still in pain. she still needs eggs in the morning. she should feel free to ask for what she needs without being met with a reluctant helper.

last night she asked me to stay home from church to take care of her, and i really almost snapped. i love going to church, and i DON'T love bringing her ibuprofen. but then i began thinking that going to church instead of helping my mother would be wrong. it's the opposite of christianity. really, by that point, i was being self indulgent even with my faith. "i can't help you! i have to go sing They Will Know We Are Christians by Our Love!"

so i swallowed my answer and stayed. i prayed for God to give me a willing heart, and he did. i've been cleaning and cooking and fetching all day, and i feel great. i feel like walking the dog and changing the cat litter and making banana bread. i feel like being the quintessential image of the everywoman in an apron.

it'll wear off soon, i'm sure, but until then, i have dishes to do.