We had about two hours before we had to return to Garrett’s preschool. In 120 minutes, I knew I could tackle the piles of laundry, wash the dishes filling the kitchen sink, and change the linens on the beds. With both boys in school, I could move mountains. Yet when we got into the car and Eliza suggested a playdate with Marshall, my heart knew that the chores could all wait; at least for a few hours. I made myself comfortable on a centrally located bench while three-year old Eliza clicked and clacked up and down the aisles, sporting the highest and most glamorous heals on the shelves.
Eliza no longer begs for playdates with Marshall. A mountain of laundry still exists, dishes continue to fill the kitchen sink, and five beds are still unmade. Eliza’s feet now fill those high-healed shoes. Rather than playdates with Marshall, my teenage daughter and I now spend hours at Marshalls purchasing those once playful shoes.