Nothing sexy, no playah; but it is what I am.
On an average day, I pick up enough shoes to outfit a heard of centipedes, enough pencils to build a bonfire capable of heating our home for days and enough toys to make FAO Schwartz feel puny and empty. I go to bed with clutter-free rooms. However, by the time I’m dressed down the stairs for work the next morning, one would think our home had been devastated by a class five cyclone. Are they dropping crap in their sleep? Do I have poltergeists? They don’t remember doing it judging by the number of emphatic “Wasn’t me”s and “Isn’t mine”s that spill from their little fibbing lips.
The only way to cope is to not look at the number of things I pick up but the things themselves. Here we go:
ONE sock. Where the Devil is the other one? On the window sill of course OR serving as a sleeping bag for some stuffed animal suffering from the primitive conditions of our cave dwelling/home.
Acorns. Usually these are painted and glued to look like little people. At least now I’m not lonely. I have some new tiny friends.
Video games. Now I can’t hold them up to the light to play them but I imagine a Ninetendo handheld will find its way into my hands shortly. I can't wait~ I LOVE Super Mario!
Rocks. Helloooooo Charlie Brown.
"Schnipples". These are little pieces of paper that have been cut or torn and have no purpose but won't disappear under the vacuum's scrutiny.
Scissors. Go figure! Responsible for above.
You get the idea? I’m quite sure. Quit smiling. You do it too I bet.
So this morning, I am stooping, swearing, muttering and QUESTIONING why I got up to work out when I have a top-notch cardio routine right before me, when my daughter swishes by me on her way out to the bus.
“Love you Mom.” And off she goes. A couple of papers float from her “not quite closed” backpack.
I pick them up.
Opening the door, I see her lunchbox on the step and promptly pick IT up. But it wasn’t closed either so her lunch escapes and dances happily at my feet.
“Boo! Hurry! Get your shoes on and run these to Sissy!"
ZOOM~ off he goes- in his socks because he can’t find his shoes. Oops! They’re in my hands.
Fighting overwhelming frustration and back spasms, I continue my hunched over scavenger hunt until I realize he's crying the “I’m going to die right here and now” cry. I run to the door. He’s not there. He's sobbing and trotting around to the garage. I do the same from the inside; chasing in a fishbowl. I can see/hear he's hurt but can't get to him. Reaching the door, Boo falls into my arms. I see red; deep and painful. My shirt is smeared as are my cheek and neck as he hugs me with all his might.
“Uh uh uh f-f-fe-e-e-ell!” there is a choke and a gasp. My collar is warm and wet.
“Where Buddy?”
“Ow-owsIIIIDE!” he wails.
“Doing what?” I can see it and have an idea but I want to hear it from him.
“Suuuh sur-surf--" it won't come out. He sputters and shakes.
“Sock surfing?” I smile. He was sliding on the wet leaves on the sidewalk.
“Yeah.” Boo tries to regain some control.
“Did you get to the mailbox?” I rub his back.
“Yeah. I always do. I’m good.”this is accompanied by a shrug and damp grin. I've seen him. He IS good.
“Yeah, well, not so much today, huh?”
“No.” he sniffs.
I clean us both up and somehow get us to the bus stop on time. He hugs me just before climbing aboard. I wipe his stray tears and hug him so big I ….
Pick him up.
I am a pick up artist; no playah,just proud and strong. Like all Mommies.
Hope you're having a good one. Thanks for visiting.
