Tornado? No problem

When my husband stays with the kids for an afternoon, feeds them, gets them ready for bed and, bless his heart, tucks them nicely into bed, the usual whirlwind of pre-bed prep becomes a veritable cyclone sight, as if a tornado touched down in the middle of my living room and spread to every area within a twenty foot radius.

 

I am looking forward to the day that I can pick up the violin and play a brilliant melancholy piece like Sherlock Holmes would when words express with limited adequacy the feeling of the moment. For now, I pick up my violin in a pondering mood play a few strains of Bach’s Minuet in G, shudder slightly and put it back in its case.

 

It was just such a scene to inspire melancholy violin playing that I came home to tonight after taking the opportunity to drive down the hill and with great efficiency proceed to spend a bunch of money getting all the things necessary for a smooth running household like diapers, toilet paper, rice milk in bulk and lots and lots of tuna ( my husbands current lunch kick).

 

Now this is something I have yet to understand about myself. I left waving to my adorable three children and husband as they happily waved back because afternoons with daddy are an occasion infrequent enough to easily put mommy far from mind. I practically kicked my heels as I walked into Costco with my sister. When you are programmed through necessity to anticipate needs and wants of little people, used to finding small items in diaper bags with one hand without looking, used to reaching out your hand to cover sharp objects right before a head comes in contact with it, though you only saw the blur of movement, and the corner at a level with it, out of your peripheral, it is as though a weight has lifted when you find yourself with none but yourself or happily with another adult.

 Side note:  Ever since reading Les miserable I have been eager to write sentences that span whole paragraphs and still make sense like old Hugo does. Really the intensity of the sentence content is astounding in that book, I do not pretend to possess such talent but I will continue to expand my run on sentences with the attempts.

 

  So here I was kicking my heels, rather ungracefully I might add, but really heel kicking is not an overly graceful activity, unless you are Dick Van Dyke on Mary Poppins, who  is after all lanky and quick which must give him some special heel kicking power

 

….so one minute practically dancing and then a couple hours later what was I doing?

 

Calling my husband to check on the kids of course. Not just check on them, I wanted to hear what they ate, if they drank enough water, if they were asleep yet, if they missed me and perhaps one or twelve more questions like those, much to the chagrin of my trying to be patient husband who might have wanted to do something else. I might add the something else was definitely not cleaning up the house. Just saying.

So my five hours of freedom ended with my eager anticipation to get back home which might have led to a little lead in the foot the last few minutes of my drive. I came in, I saw it all: the dirty clothes in a heap, the dinner dishes on the table, the toys and books, the spillage on the floor and I still felt glad to be home and, here is the clincher, happy to start tidying up and preparing for the day ahead.

I even smiled when I saw the large smear of toothpaste on the bathroom counter, telling me that Mason was probably trying to butter his own toothbrush. Went in to their rooms and saw their angelic little sleeping faces. All is right with the world.

Kids….they make me laugh and make me cry, a perennial burden on my heart.

Oh happy weight.