Sudsy water sitting in the sink, full of dishes needing washed; washing machine thudding into gear, ridding the garments of the dirt and crud accumulated over the past few days; throw pillows flung about, no longer placed neatly on the sofa and chairs, now being used as lily pad type pillars projecting out of the ground as I watch my child jump about from one to the next. "Don't touch the carpet Ma! It's hot lava!" And he means business. I have slippers on, as usual and nothing (not even molten lava) can come close to slowing me down. I've got stuff to do! But I accept and appreciate the imagination and I hop along from brown striped to teal with brown circles to the flowered suede and onto the ceramic tile in the kitchen.
"How about the tile?," I say, looking back over my shoulder. "Is the tile fair game?" Asking him for permission as I'm uncertain of the specific rules in this Dungeon-Dragons(esque) reality we are faced with. "Tile is good mom! Just Please!, be careful!"
I'm hovering over the dish water, submerged to my elbows in Dawn dish soap and sippy cups; carelessly daydreaming out the fogged over window looking out the back of the house into the night that is lit by the orangish light that resides by the street, thinking of my own imagination and how I could make this chore more of a game; like I would if I were still a kid; not taking things so seriously. But can't come up with anything interesting enough to play, embarrassed to ask my son for input.
Baby is in her crib, Tangled playing on her tiny baby flat screen and she's muttering something. I can barely make it out over the running of the water into the stainless sink as I rinse all the small parts of every Disney Princess character no-spill cup we seem to have in every shape and size and color and character. I can hear her sweet little voice rising as she grows impatient. "Listen here bitch! I've been in here almost 4 solid minutes and although I'm into EVERYTHING and you deem it necessary to cage me up to recollect your thoughts, even if only for an instant, I want to be in the midst of the molten lava that is taking place where my big brother with the imagination is going down!" (I'm certain that's exactly what she'd say if she could speak with such accuracy.)
The buzzer from the dryer blares into the air, startling me out of my daydream. "I'll get to that," I think. Today .. Tomorrow .. Ugh!
"Jaxon! Can you get your sister out of her crib, please?"
He flies down the hallway! "Like your knight in shining armor my princess, I release you!", as he throws her onto his back and they hop .. hop ..hop from stone pillar pillow to stone pillar pillow back to the living room; which could be mistaken as a rec room of a daycare center.
I glance back to see my daughter, hanging on for dear life on the back of her brother, throwing her head back, smiling from ear to ear. "Be careful with her, will ya?"
"She won't break mom! I've tried!" Well, her spirit anyway, that's certain.
Exactly 43 minutes later, both children have been bathed of the daily impurities, swam with some action figures and a few Hot Wheels, tracked water all through the bathroom and trails down the hall, placed into pajamas, teeth combed, hair brushed errr...yeah, tucked snuggly into beds. 2 chapters of Robinson Crusoe read to the eldest and "You are my sunshine" hummed to the littlest, kisses and hugs, tucked in and extra tugs. They're snug as bugs in rugs.
I glance about the disaster area that once resembled my house. "It's well lived in" plays through my head in the voice of my cousin and one of my bestest friends, Zobeda. She always says her house in not messy, it's well lived in. This must be the exact definition, the portrait she was trying to paint with those said words. If ever a house were lived in, this must be it.
I place a stiff hand on each side of each eye as to form blinders like the horses have to wear. I steer myself directly to the bedroom and pretend I noticed nothing.
We flip through the Netflix, we won't agree on anything. He isn't into the reality tv crap I watch, although I want nothing more than to watch the newest episode of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" to see what the ladies are up to this week. He wants to watch something only long enough to fall asleep anyhow. I give it 10 minutes, tops! Our legs intertwine below the sheets, window open blowing a cool breeze through the curtains swaying in the room (just like he likes it). We canoodle, skin on skin, exhaling the day away; together.
Everything is as it should be... And all is right in the world. Needing nor wanting nothing more, nothing less. Completely content to the core.
Happy moments shall be praised, shouted from rooftops, spoken about and appreciated. In a whirlwind world that can be consumed with anger and regret and jealousy... all blessings should be given kudos. And in my world, they should be written about, filed away, and pulled out on a rainy day to serve as a reminder that the clouds will lift and if I look about, life is pretty ding dang dong dandy! :)
"How about the tile?," I say, looking back over my shoulder. "Is the tile fair game?" Asking him for permission as I'm uncertain of the specific rules in this Dungeon-Dragons(esque) reality we are faced with. "Tile is good mom! Just Please!, be careful!"
I'm hovering over the dish water, submerged to my elbows in Dawn dish soap and sippy cups; carelessly daydreaming out the fogged over window looking out the back of the house into the night that is lit by the orangish light that resides by the street, thinking of my own imagination and how I could make this chore more of a game; like I would if I were still a kid; not taking things so seriously. But can't come up with anything interesting enough to play, embarrassed to ask my son for input.
Baby is in her crib, Tangled playing on her tiny baby flat screen and she's muttering something. I can barely make it out over the running of the water into the stainless sink as I rinse all the small parts of every Disney Princess character no-spill cup we seem to have in every shape and size and color and character. I can hear her sweet little voice rising as she grows impatient. "Listen here bitch! I've been in here almost 4 solid minutes and although I'm into EVERYTHING and you deem it necessary to cage me up to recollect your thoughts, even if only for an instant, I want to be in the midst of the molten lava that is taking place where my big brother with the imagination is going down!" (I'm certain that's exactly what she'd say if she could speak with such accuracy.)
The buzzer from the dryer blares into the air, startling me out of my daydream. "I'll get to that," I think. Today .. Tomorrow .. Ugh!
"Jaxon! Can you get your sister out of her crib, please?"
He flies down the hallway! "Like your knight in shining armor my princess, I release you!", as he throws her onto his back and they hop .. hop ..hop from stone pillar pillow to stone pillar pillow back to the living room; which could be mistaken as a rec room of a daycare center.
I glance back to see my daughter, hanging on for dear life on the back of her brother, throwing her head back, smiling from ear to ear. "Be careful with her, will ya?"
"She won't break mom! I've tried!" Well, her spirit anyway, that's certain.
Exactly 43 minutes later, both children have been bathed of the daily impurities, swam with some action figures and a few Hot Wheels, tracked water all through the bathroom and trails down the hall, placed into pajamas, teeth combed, hair brushed errr...yeah, tucked snuggly into beds. 2 chapters of Robinson Crusoe read to the eldest and "You are my sunshine" hummed to the littlest, kisses and hugs, tucked in and extra tugs. They're snug as bugs in rugs.
I glance about the disaster area that once resembled my house. "It's well lived in" plays through my head in the voice of my cousin and one of my bestest friends, Zobeda. She always says her house in not messy, it's well lived in. This must be the exact definition, the portrait she was trying to paint with those said words. If ever a house were lived in, this must be it.
I place a stiff hand on each side of each eye as to form blinders like the horses have to wear. I steer myself directly to the bedroom and pretend I noticed nothing.
We flip through the Netflix, we won't agree on anything. He isn't into the reality tv crap I watch, although I want nothing more than to watch the newest episode of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" to see what the ladies are up to this week. He wants to watch something only long enough to fall asleep anyhow. I give it 10 minutes, tops! Our legs intertwine below the sheets, window open blowing a cool breeze through the curtains swaying in the room (just like he likes it). We canoodle, skin on skin, exhaling the day away; together.
Everything is as it should be... And all is right in the world. Needing nor wanting nothing more, nothing less. Completely content to the core.
Happy moments shall be praised, shouted from rooftops, spoken about and appreciated. In a whirlwind world that can be consumed with anger and regret and jealousy... all blessings should be given kudos. And in my world, they should be written about, filed away, and pulled out on a rainy day to serve as a reminder that the clouds will lift and if I look about, life is pretty ding dang dong dandy! :)
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