I am sitting at the dining room table. I am joined by a dirty pot-bellied teddy bear, some books, a marker and pencil, a sippy cup, a Lego catalog, a Christmas card and a vase of roses commemorating Sici’s first dance recital.
The chair next to mine is covered in green streamers. A fern frond that decorated Papa’s Father’s Day throne has fallen to the floor next to scraps of paper and a smattering of crumbs.
Upstairs, J and Lala have quiet time in their bedrooms.
J clunks like an old car, sharing an off-the-cuff story with her stuffed friend students — the ones who yesterday learned fractions and prepared last minute Father’s Day cards.
Lala squeaks in the highest voice she can muster while still sounding firm, which usually means she’s speaking for Lamby, the blanket who holds court.
Downstairs, Sici listens to “Encyclopedia Brown” on a skipping CD and attempts to determine with Encyclopedia the answers to mysteries while Bugs Meany and a cast of others do their best to thwart the young boy detective. I can imagine Sici’s concern that she’ll miss key clues under the CD’s skipping, “Waaa-waaaa-waaaa-waaaa.”
In the entry way two giant blue fans that the carpet cleaners used to dry our rugs last Friday await pick-up and a nearly knee-high pile of shoes next to the stairs sit ready for a trip back home to the third floor.
It is 2 pm, and I have cleaned the kitchen three times. I am trying to build up the strength for another go at it. I take out a load of recycling, pass by some crabbing traps left on our front porch by dear friends moving to the country’s middle and notice, not right away connecting the two, how much our street smells like the ocean.
For some reason, in the midst of my circling around piles and periodic attacks into their centers, instead of finishing what I’ve started, I decide to dump the diaper bag — the one that’s been sitting unused, minding it’s own business behind the doors of our armoire for months. I cannot explain my state of mind, but I start emptying, pulling out the wads and wads of stuff, piling it on our entry floor.
It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do.
Before I know it, I sit among a pile, and think I’ll just throw it all out. Costume jewelry. Finger puppets. Hair clips, headbands and rubber bands, leftover napkins from the coffee shop. Band-aids. Dried out wipes. Reams of pocket-sized crayon packs. (I throw out all the crayons but the Crayolas. The imitations are just not worth keeping, I tell you.)
When I pick up pieces of mess here or there, I nearly expect them to jump to life with the people who live here, clattering like an old car, talking in an unnaturally high voice, skipping like a scratched CD.
But they don’t. And I go about my business, talking in a kind, firm voice, holding court over these piles.
I’m a softy, but I can still tell them who’s boss.
Linking up with “Just Write” at The Extraordinary Ordinary today.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Love this. The voices, the piles, the sudden impulse to make one more new mess instead of cleaning the kitchen for the 47th time–all familiar. And what a sweet wrap around to the ending–who’s boss indeed! So glad to have found ou through Just Write.
Jen, thank you so much for visiting and for your comments! I’m headed your way, too. :) Yes, what is that impulse about? Is it just too hard to wrap up those irritating lose ends? Or is it the thrill of the hunt — oh, there’s another mess — I’ll master that one!
Once again, you hit the nail right on the head. I love you!
Love you, Auntie! So I’m not alone, huh? :)
Yes, what Jen said! The voices, the various scenes going on simultaneously in various parts of the house, that odd unspoken but powerful directive to tackle a mess that’s not even in the way! Mama and the mess! Indeed! I’m thinking it might be a sequel to Princess & the Pea. xoxo
I love what you say — “that odd unspoken but powerful directive to tackle a mess that’s not even in the way!” That’s it — such a mystery, no? Yes, “Mama and the Mess” is the “Princess and the Pea” after some years and babies….I will crush that pea and see you a pile of junk that would make a spoiled, weaker, daintier woman’s back break straight in two. Haha!
hahaha! :D
Glad to seeing am not alone in that drowning sensation, overwhelmed at times by ‘things’and clearly the mother to a bunch of relocaters. That is what we call our Littles who seem to need just one piece of every set or game to make the magic happen :-)
I love that, Suzy! A bunch of relocaters — what a great way to say it. So glad we’re not in this alone. :)
This sounds “oh soo familiar Ash!” Mama & the Mess is a never-ending story, but one filled with love & joy! :)
The mess is just evidence of a love and joy-filled life, right? :)
Love this and it is a never-ending story just that the items change as we grow older and they become more sentimental.
Oh no! In spite of my tough talk, I’m sentimental already — it gets worse?!
At least you can still “hold court”.. it seems every item in my home has “become” the person it belongs to.. and I hold on to everything. It’s hard to “let go”! xo Smidge
It is hard, Smidge, and I stink at the letting go — really I do. I can imagine when these little people no longer live under our roof getting rid of their stuff will be that much harder.
I admire your attitude and great energy, essential partners required, to keep up with this spirited trio of endless fun.
Thank you, Papa. :) “Spirited trio” they are!
I just spent 3 hours cleaning up the basement yesterday and the ONLY one in my house who has been playing down there is my 3-year old (everyone else is away at camp!) There are PILES of stuff waiting for Goodwill and I will admit to throwing out a lot of extraneous bits during my frenzy… My house will be clean in approximately 15 years! That’s okay – patience is a virtue, right?
Yes, it is! I am so with you, Barb. Never-ending trips to Goodwill I tell ya. Wow, three hours in the basement…way to go! Gotta go to town while the kids are away sometimes — otherwise they’ll be pulling stuff out of the piles. :)