Two days ago, my daughter was ultra sweet. She spent the days showering me with (what she deemed as) compliments and kisses. (I just have to say: one of her compliments was, “Mom, yesterday you smelled like poop and I thought you were ugly at church, but… you weren’t!” *BIG HUG*)
While her brother took a very late nap, she was my pal. She snuggled with me, talked with me, and finally decided to cook with me. I had to laugh as she climbed onto the kitchen counter. She was wearing a black and shimmery orange tutu with an orange shirt, glittery red shoes (“SLIPPERS!” she corrects me every time), and an apron. Naturally. She asked me for help.
“How do I do my slippers like just Dorothy?” she asked. So I showed her how to click her heels together. Then I grabbed the camera and took this video. Sorry it’s sideways. Turn your head, won’t you?
“There’s no place like home,” she says.
Weh-ell. She fooled me. You want to know what she did the next day?! DO YOU?! We’re talking massive amounts of mayhem, here. We’re talking I had flashbacks of her wrecking-ball-like abilities exhibited in her terrible twos. We’re talking I had to sit down at the end of the day and do a major brain reboot!
Just what is it I’m doing, exactly? I asked myself.
It looks like nothing at all. I answered myself.
It looks like your children are undoing your life’s work. I reasoned.
It looks like your children ARE your life’s work. I replied.
Just what is it I’m doing, exactly? I asked myself again, coming full circle. My thoughts literally RAN in CIRCLES around me.
Because when I finally got the energy to do the dishes, I turned the water on AND TURNED MY BACK while the children dumped out three drawers of toys on the carpet, WHICH by the by was already covered in bits ad scraps of the gingerbread house they’d demolished the day before that I can’t seem to ever clean up all of. Not only did they dump out the toys, my daughter ran into her bathroom, turned the sink on and started filling all of her kitchen toys with water. And then she put them on her dress up bin.
On the carpet.
When I turned to find a miniature flood in my living room, I sent them both to their room so I could cool down. I cleaned that mess up only to walk into their room where they were supposed to be resting and watching a movie to find…
And entire jar filled with buttons (both large ad very tiny) dumped out on the carpet. The carpet, remember, is still harboring bits and pieces of gingerbread and candy and frosting. And now buttons.
By the time the dishes were done, so was I.
Days like that are the ones I want to remember so that when my daughter calls me to complain about her disorderly children, I’ll have a deep sense of validation to go along with my sympathy.
I’ll click my heels together and say, as she did in days gone by, “There’s no place like home.”
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