Early Sunday evening, Lily brought me a glass of water.
In and of itself, this is not an earth-shattering or life-altering event. Though it's remarkable to us that she's tall enough to get a plastic glass out of the cabinet and fill it with water from the dispenser on the top shelf of the fridge, it's a fairly normal act for a 7-year-old to complete.
What made this glass of water unusual was that it wasn't for Lily--and that no one specifically asked her to get it.
On Sunday morning at 7:30a, I went for a run with a friend who I haven't been out on the trail with in nearly a year. We logged four miles in 20-something degree weather at a good pace for us both. I got home in time to shower and change, then arrive in the kitchen to find Jeff had made me breakfast and had it waiting for me to eat with him in the ten minutes I had before racing out the door. For the next four hours, I gave tours to newly admitted students at my school before rushing to meet Jeff and Lily at a(n outdoor, socially distanced and masked) birthday party for one of the girls in her class. And while the drop-off nature of that party allowed Jeff and me time to sneak down to Georgetown for a late lunch date, our arrival back home in the early evening meant there was still a lot to do to get ready for school and work the next day.
I trudged upstairs almost immediately to begin working on the enormous basket of (at least) clean laundry waiting to be folded on our bed. As I kicked off my shoes and pulled out the first few articles, Jeff and Lily came into the room. As is her habit at the moment, Lily was instantly on our bed, bouncing around and testing her ability to hold gymnastic bridges--and effectively taking up any folding surface I might have. Jeff, meanwhile, was checking in to see the plan for the rest of the evening.
Continuing to attempt laying shirts flat amidst the chaos on the bed, I sighed deeply and told Jeff I had no motivation to even make dinner--I just wanted to be done with chores. I checked my watch to see how many hours I had to pack everything in and noted that my step count was above 20,000 for the day. With another sigh, I paused in my chore recitation to say, "I really haven't had enough water today."
And right then was the remarkably unexpected moment.
Lily popped down from her bridge and pushed herself off the bed, then began to move quickly to the door, calling back over her shoulder, "I can get you water, Mama. I'll be right back."
Sure enough, a few minutes later, she returned to the room, both hands carefully clutching the glass she'd gotten down, filled, and carried upstairs on her own. She handed it to me, and I drank half of it gratefully. With a smile and after quick squeeze around my waist, she darted past me and leapt back onto the bed, ready to resume her training.
The evening was still chaotic. There were still fresh masks to put in bags, themed clothes to lay out for Spirit Week, and email to check. Though the laundry got folded, I never did get around to cooking the chicken thighs in the fridge.
But the evening also changed in that moment. It shifted from my lament at needing to do everything myself to my realization that my family is so tuned into my needs that they appear with what I ask for, even when I don't ask them for it. By the end of the night, I was able to snuggle with Lily on the sofa and watch an episode of her current favorite show, Full House, and laugh over the antics of Michelle and Stephanie.
Thanks, Lil' Bean. Your glass of water was a game changer.
