Every now and then, you need a little reminder. Lately, I have been getting more than my fair share of them. I believe it is because I am just more aware of things(it all goes back to appreciation). I hope you get reminders often, too. If you do not, I hope you come back to read mine sometimes because they make you feel good.
All I Need is a Little Quiet
My kid is playing in his room. He is always noticeable when he is. Loud is better. Even I know this. It is how I like my music.
It is about 20 minutes before you decide to cook supper in the late afternoon. I am doing the cleaning that one can leave for up to two weeks at a time. I am always surprised how much ends up under my couch after this time. But it is fun finding all the stuff I forgotten about but once thought I had lost for good.
I had just found the ugly red pen I hate under one of them when I noticed that not-so-deadly quiet. It is the quiet that makes you go in and check on your child, only to find them totally engrossed in building lego what-evers. They still get loud occasionally because they play with their creations, too.
It is also one of those silences that ends up with you on the floor, playing with your child.
Which is definitely more appealing than the dusting I should be doing.
I do not like it when my heart stops and I cannot breathe. My kid does this to me a lot. Apparently, he wants to kill me for being the distributor of time-outs, early bed times and no ice cream five minutes before supper. I will have to teach my child there are boundaries to revenge.
From the bedroom doorway, I watch my child jump down from his dresser with a big, fat marker. The sunshine is his beaming smile.
I just might pass out this time.
Red marker right up to the ceiling. The big, fat marker is permanent.
It was not a deadly silence I heard because he still had to move stuff around to be able to reach up so high. I just wanted to play.
This is a dirty trick.
The longest wall in the room has been transformed from boring old white to a landscape of coloured-in circles and large lines. There must be some kind of pattern to this chaos.
I rub my head.
I try to sigh but discover I am still not breathing. My voice comes out low and piercing at the same time.
"What is this?"
"It is beautiful," my child breathes, just as awe-struck as I am by his creation.
I look over at him like he is crazy. But he does not notice. He cannot take his eyes off the wall. He is grinning so proudly.
Just as I regain my breath, I lose it again.
He is the most beautiful thing in the world.
The sound of silence reminded me there is beauty everywhere. Sometimes you see it. Sometimes you don't. And sometimes when you really, really cannot see it; all you have to do it look a little harder.
All I Need is a Little Quiet
My kid is playing in his room. He is always noticeable when he is. Loud is better. Even I know this. It is how I like my music.
It is about 20 minutes before you decide to cook supper in the late afternoon. I am doing the cleaning that one can leave for up to two weeks at a time. I am always surprised how much ends up under my couch after this time. But it is fun finding all the stuff I forgotten about but once thought I had lost for good.
I had just found the ugly red pen I hate under one of them when I noticed that not-so-deadly quiet. It is the quiet that makes you go in and check on your child, only to find them totally engrossed in building lego what-evers. They still get loud occasionally because they play with their creations, too.
It is also one of those silences that ends up with you on the floor, playing with your child.
Which is definitely more appealing than the dusting I should be doing.
I do not like it when my heart stops and I cannot breathe. My kid does this to me a lot. Apparently, he wants to kill me for being the distributor of time-outs, early bed times and no ice cream five minutes before supper. I will have to teach my child there are boundaries to revenge.
From the bedroom doorway, I watch my child jump down from his dresser with a big, fat marker. The sunshine is his beaming smile.
I just might pass out this time.
Red marker right up to the ceiling. The big, fat marker is permanent.
It was not a deadly silence I heard because he still had to move stuff around to be able to reach up so high. I just wanted to play.
This is a dirty trick.
The longest wall in the room has been transformed from boring old white to a landscape of coloured-in circles and large lines. There must be some kind of pattern to this chaos.
I rub my head.
I try to sigh but discover I am still not breathing. My voice comes out low and piercing at the same time.
"What is this?"
"It is beautiful," my child breathes, just as awe-struck as I am by his creation.
I look over at him like he is crazy. But he does not notice. He cannot take his eyes off the wall. He is grinning so proudly.
Just as I regain my breath, I lose it again.
He is the most beautiful thing in the world.
The sound of silence reminded me there is beauty everywhere. Sometimes you see it. Sometimes you don't. And sometimes when you really, really cannot see it; all you have to do it look a little harder.
Comments
I have a 3 1/2 year old daughter who likes redecorating, too.
Q