of mornings and playing and nightmares

 

For three days a heavy shroud of grey has not allowed a single color from the sunset to shine through, tell me, is it still happening where you are? I do hope so.

Last night, I had just begun to clean the kitchen and the kids were playing so wonderfully, it was nearly silent and I glanced around the corner to find them both playing with separate things like little contented angels.  If you must know, this is what our home is like always and there is a soft glow that radiates too.  Nope. 

So, I was speed cleaning, because of my great love of washing dishes, which stems from years of torture as a child, when I was forced  against my will to clean the kitchen with my brothers every single night.  I believe enough time have past that I can truthfully and safely admit that I would find any excuse to do the smallest tasks possible. You know the kind, “I’ll just go wipe the table off, really well.”

Anyways, it had been about ten minutes and I was sweeping the floor when that boy of mine, who had constructed a train track the length of the living/dining room, he walked up to me, put his hands on the broom and said, “All done broom.”  I just stood there all frozen and he removed the it from my hands and placed it back in its place of storage.  Then, he showed me his masterpiece and insisted, “Mama play train track.”  What was I to do?  I mean, I didn’t want to clean the kitchen anyways.

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We’ve been having a nice quiet morning here.  The kind where I give the baby girl her oatmeal with a bowl and spoon, she only likes to eat with proper dishes, that girl.  And anytime you give her a spoon and some food, you can pretty much secure yourself five to ten minutes of sitting and drinking coffee, an essential similar to breathing.  She does really well and makes a gigantic mess, which, of course is worth those blissful sitting and drinking moments.  I will go to great lengths to sit down and enjoy my food, make no joke of that.

Speaking of quiet, slow mornings, the other day, in the car, I told my husband that the worst imaginable scenario was one that required me to wake up unmercifully early to feed, dress, make lunches, prep children for the day, and get out the door, all under the strict tyranny of someone else’s schedule.  The fact that people have put up with this kind of oppression for years and years makes me sad and “revolty”.  Will that be the deciding factor towards homeschooling? Maybe.

The end.  Happy weekend.